


I Don't Need No Cure

by ed_anyeros



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Paramedic AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-03-05 09:16:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3114464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ed_anyeros/pseuds/ed_anyeros
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicity slid her phone back into her purse and went back to perusing her tablet. And by 'perusing her tablet' that of course meant 'get completely distracted by the firemen across the street washing an ambulance in the hot sun'. <i>This is my new favorite park bench</i>, she thought to herself as the water cascaded across burly forearms and heavily muscled chests, <i>I might die of carbon monoxide poisoning from the traffic, but it'll be worth it. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Anon prompt on tumblr for "Oliver as a paramedic."
> 
> They might have wanted something more angsty and plot driven, but I needed some fluff in a big way.

Felicity was sitting on a park bench on the corner of Greene and 16th. Street when her phone buzzed. “Hello?” she shouted to be heard over the traffic noise. Why on earth her new friend wanted to meet her across the street from a fire station, she'd never know. 

“I'm so sorry I'm running late,” came the tinny voice, “can you give me another fifteen minutes? If I'm not there by then, you should totally take off. We can try again tomorrow.”

“This is the third coffee date you've bailed on me,” Felicity said, “I'm starting to take it a little personally here.”

“I know! And I'm so sorry! I'm just hung up in another emergency design meeting. The board don't like the new headers on the stationary of all things! I mean how stupid is that?”

“Aren't we a paperless office?”

“This is my point! Ugh, having your work priorities be decided by Luddites is ridiculous!”

“Hey, I'm in IT, I get it,” Felicity smirked. “'Just wiggle the cord Mr. Lamere. Have you tried turning it on and off again Ms. Durise? There is no printer in that conference room, Mr. Williams.'” The feminine laugh that carried through the phone gave Felicity her first genuine smile in days.

“Fifteen minutes Ok?” came the voice again. “And if I don't make it, I'll call you about dinner, Ok?”

“You got it, but it'll be Mexican, you owe me! It's margarita two for one night.” 

“Of course!”

Felicity slid her phone back into her purse and went back to perusing her tablet. And by 'perusing her tablet' that of course meant 'get completely distracted by the firemen across the street washing an ambulance in the hot sun'. _This is my new favorite park bench_ , she thought to herself as the water cascaded across burly forearms and heavily muscled chests, _I might die of carbon monoxide poisoning from the traffic, but it'll be worth it._

She'd been running her eyes up and down the flexing back muscles of one particularly tall and blonde specimen, when she'd figured she'd dawdled enough. _Time to be the lone girl in the coffee shop._ She'd shoved her tablet back in her bag. _Then the lone girl in a studio apartment with an empty fridge, and seventy four take out menus_. She snapped her bag closed. _Maybe I should just own it, and get a cat._

She was wrangling her bag strap across her chest and rising to her feet when she sent a last fleeting glance up at Blonde and Stacked. _One more sneaky peak_. And it would have been, if he wasn't staring right back at her, and grinning. Felicity gasped and fumbled her bag while it was hanging precariously half way over her head. 

The heavy case slipped and banged her hard on the hip. She stumbled to the right to regain her balance, but started to lose her footing in the wet grass. Felicity landed hard on the edge of the concrete park bench, smacking her tailbone, her bag thudding on the sidewalk. 

She winced as she did an internal damage check, _Well that's reassuring. Other than my pride, everything else is fine._

She'd gotten her bag adjusted (before standing this time) and was almost to full height when a set of strong, calloused, and slightly damp hands settled around her upper arms. Her own fingers rose instinctively to grip his forearms, electricity crackled through her at the contact . She took a steadying breath and looked up into his eyes. _God, they're even bluer up close._ He smiled down at her. _He even has nice laugh lines._

Felicity licked her lips, stalling until she could force words out of her frazzled brain. Somehow she had enough self control to realize, _You look really good wet and in a t-shirt_ , wasn't an appropriate opening salvo. His eyes flicked down to mouth while the tip of her tongue was still peaking out. She drew a quick breath, and glanced away. Her eyes traveling down his tan throat, the outline of his Engine House Shield tattoo high on his left pectoral, barely visible through the thin, damp t shirt, before letting her eyes drift further south.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice low.

“Oh yeah,” she said, nodding solemnly at the shadows of his abs. “I'm totally great.”

He crouched down slightly catching her gaze, “Well, you don't seem concussed.”

“Why would I be concussed?”

“Falling injuries are the number one cause of concussions.”

“But doesn't that only happen if you bang your head?”

“Well, yeah,” he said standing back up to his full height, hands still loose on her arms, “but I figured if I started with 'I hope your ass is fine' you'd probably get really mad.” Felicity let out an undignified snort of laughter, and the smile lines around his eyes deepened. “Here,” He turned her in his arms, his chest brushing against her shoulder blades, “take ten steps, pivot on one foot and walk back.”

Felicity tipped her head so she could look him in the eyes, strands of her hair catching in his stubble, “Isn't this a field sobriety test?”

“No,” he shook his head dramatically, “not at all. I just want to make sure you don't have any injuries to your legs and hips.”

“You don't moonlight as a doctor do you?”

“Paramedic,” he said jutting his chin in the direction he wanted her to go. Felicity walked the ten paces, turned, and walked back.

“Good,” he was smiling wider yet. “Now we just need to give you a cardiovascular integrity check, to make sure you didn't do any damage to your circulatory system.”

“A cardiovascular integrity check?” Felicity's tone went up in disbelief. “I stumbled on some wet grass I don't think that-”

“Please, Miss,” the look he gave her was wide eyed and earnest, “it's for the best if you let me do my job.”

Felicity rolled her eyes and folded her arms under her breasts. “Ok, what does this vascular check involve?”

“Easy,” his smile was broad as he placed his palm on the small of her back, steering her down the sidewalk, “you walk for three, maybe four blocks” He nodded again. “How about you go as far as the coffee shop on 12th? And I'll go with you to make sure you do a proper follow up at the end, Miss.”

“It's Felicity,” she said with a grin pulling up the corner of her mouth, “And what's proper follow up to a cardiac-whatever?” she asked as she fell into step beside him.

“You let me buy you a cup of coffee.”

She smiled then, “Ok Mr. Paramedic, you can buy me a cup of coffee.”

He tugged on her elbow as they crossed the street, “Oliver,” he said, eyes twinkling, “and make sure you stay close to me on the way there,” he nodded, eyes solemn. “My coffee shop is in a bad neighborhood.”

Felicity was on her second cup and Oliver had just ordered a slice of pie when she jumped with concern, “We've been here for almost an hour, don't you have to be back at the station?

Oliver fished his phone out of his pocket and placed it on the table, “On call.”

“Oh good,” she slumped back into the booth, stirring the creamer in her cup, “So why a paramedic?” When his eyes shadowed, Felicity winced internally. _Is it too early for personal stuff?_

He glanced down at his own cup and cleared his throat, “I, uh- I got into some bad stuff when I was a kid. The first few times it was... swept under the rug. But eventually it all caught up to me. And when I was nineteen a judge offered me thirty days in jail or six months community service. And I picked the community service.” His eyes shone in recollection. “And that was the best six months I'd ever had. I figured out how to stop being a selfish asshole, and how to start being a good person. To be someone who helps.” His smile turned a little sad then, “But it cost me some stuff, people I cared about . Some people didn't want me to be _this_ person. They wanted me to be someone else instead.”

Felicity reached out, placing her fingers against his where they rested by his phone. “You seem like you turned out all right to me.”

“Yeah?” He waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively, “You definitely seemed to like 'how I turned out' when you were watching from the park bench.” Felicity flushed hotly and tried to pull her hand away from his, when he darted suddenly and grasped her fingers. “I didn't mean it like that.” His tone was apologetic. “Just don't like to get too heavy on a first date, you know?”

“Is that what this is?” Felicity questioned, rolling her hand in his so they could clasp fingers, “A date?”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “If you'd like it to be?

They parted then, as his pie had arrived. “I think I would like that.” Felicity tilted her head to one side, considering. He lifted his eyebrows at her. A question on his face, but his mouth full of pie. “For this to be a date,” Felicity continued.

He swallowed, spearing another morsel onto his fork. “Good,” he smiled at her before gulping down another bite. 

Another hour and two more slices of pie went by before Oliver's phone chirped. He slid the cell across the Formica and into his palm, checking the text. “I've got to go,” he waggled the phone at her before shoving it back into his pocket. “Give me yours,” he gestured to where her cell was nestled on the top of her messenger bag. “I'll put my number in.”

Felicity pointed to his front pocket, “Do you want my number too?” she said while unlocking the security screen.

“This is my work phone,” he said, keying his number into hers. “I'm putting in my personal number.” He locked the phone and passed it back, “Under Mr. Paramedic, just in case you forget me.”

“I don't think that'll be possible.” Felicity smiled as he took her hand and lifted her from the booth.

Felicity was digging through her giant purse for her wallet when Oliver started tugging her by the elbow to the door. “Come on, I'll walk you as far as I can.”

“We're not dining and dashing,” she protested, head halfway in her bag.

“We're not,” her head snapped up in time to see him put his wallet back in his pocket.

She glanced back to see the fifty he'd left on the table, “Oliver, you have to let me pay for half.”

He put his palm on the small of her back again, and encouraged her out of the diner. “You can pay later.” Felicity grinned at the promise held in those words.

They walked back a block towards the fire station when Felicity pulled to a halt. “This is it for me. I'm meeting someone at La Pinata for dinner.”

Oliver tugged her out of the flow of foot traffic and under an awning in front of a bank window. “Really?” His chest was pressed against her's, their thighs brushing, “The same someone who left you waiting in the park?

Felicity swallowed and tipped her head back. His eyes had gone dark under the heavy fringe of his lashes. “Yes,” she breathed out.

He drew a calloused finger up her arm, and along her neck to cup her head in his massive palm. He bent his head forward, his warm lips brushing against hers once softly, before pressing in. Oliver's tongue flicked against her lower lip and she gasped. 

Felicity clasped her hands around his biceps, her exhale nearly a moan as his tongue found its way into her mouth. She sighed against him as his tongue slid against hers again. He folded her into his embrace, holding her up with an arm around her waist, and his hand in hair. 

Felicity slipped her fingers up his arms and around his neck before burrowing into the short strands at the back of his head. He adjusted her in his grasp then, working his mouth to her ear before placing wet kisses along the side of her throat. When he pulled away, Felicity felt dazed and unsteady. Oliver's lips were damp and swollen, his eyes hot, and his jaw clenched. “Whoever he is, he's a damn fool for leaving you hanging.”

Felicity shook her head to clear the sudden fog, “She.”

“What?” Oliver's eyebrows were nearly in his hairline.

“Work friend,” Felicity drew a deep breath, “got hung up on a project.”

“Good,” his smile was wolfish, predatory, “I'd hate to think there was someone else.”

“Pangs of remorse?”

“No,” he leaned in and brushed a soft kiss to her hairline, “never that.”

Felicity leaned back and braced her hands against his chest, “Shouldn't you be getting back?”

He sent her one last smile before jogging the rest of the way to the station. And if Felicity lingered on that sidewalk to watch his ass in those jeans well, who would judge her?

She was almost to La Pinata when her phone buzzed. She didn't even get out a “Hello” when, “Ugh you would not believe my day at work! First the Stationary Headers then the logo design for the Russian Division! Seriously? I'm halfway through my second margarita and I just got a table, so you better hurry!”

“I'm on the way,” Felicity huffed, “and I have had a seriously great day to karmic-ly balance out your legitimately terrible one!”

“Really?” she heard a slurp through the phone.

“Yeah,” Felicity sighed.

“Wait, that's a 'I met a guy yes'. Did you meet a guy?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

Felicity rolled her eyes in mock annoyance, “Why is it so hard to believe that I met a guy?”

“It isn't,” her friend enthused, “I just took you for an 'office romance- date the co-worker' kind of girl. So... what's this guy like?”

“He's smart, and funny, and kind and-”

“I don't need that, what's he packing?”

Felicity let out a laugh, “He's tall, and ripped, blond, blue eyes, and a seriously good kisser.”

“Really?” came the surprised squeal through the phone, “you kissed him already?”

“Technically we've already had a date.”

“Wait, you met some dude, had a date, and kissed him. I bailed on you like... three hours ago!”

“It was kind of a whirlwind,” Felicity admitted

“So what's his name?” came the shout through the phone.

“Oliver,” Felicity breathed out dreamily.

“No way, no fucking way!”

“What?” Felicity questioned, growing nervous, “What is it Thea?”

“Just wait till you get here,” her laugh came across the phone again. “Good Lord, do I have something to tell you!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please note the rating change.

“Seriously, though,” Thea said biting delicately into a cheese quesadilla, “it's for the best.”

“I don't know, Thea,” Felicity hedged, twirling the drink umbrella between her fingers.

“It is,” Thea dashed some more hot sauce onto her plate. “You don't want to tell him that you know him.”

“But I don't know him.”

“I mean who he really is,” Thea took another slurp of her margarita. “He's worked really hard at not being Ollie Queen any more. And if he knows that you know who he is, for real, and that you know me? He's going to feel set up.”

“I don't like lying,” Felicity said with a small frown, “I'm also not very good at it.”

“Don't lie,” Thea said pouring more salsa on her plate, “just give a very specific version of the truth.”

“Well, what am I supposed to say when where I work comes up in conversation?”

“Make something up?”

“Thea,” Felicity rolled her eyes.

“Don't you freelance?” Thea asked. When Felicity nodded she continued, “Well, tell him that.”

Felicity shifted uncomfortably in her seat, “But are you-”

“He runs, Felicity.”

“Like, in marathons?”

“No,” Thea said with a fond, but exasperated, smile, “from girls,” she took another slurp of her drink, “from relationships.”

“And you think that he'll-”

“It's best this way,” Thea interrupted with a firm nod. “Oliver doesn't want the QC-Society-Life stuff anymore, so he can't think you're part of that.”

“But I'm not part of that,” Felicity protested.

“But you're my friend,” Thea slid her hand across the table to tangle fingers with Felicity, “and he'll see that as the same thing.”

Felicity frowned into the melted remains of her margarita. “It just seems like kind of a bad way to start a new-”

“If you don't,” Thea interrupted, “there won't be a start. He thinks you're connected in any way, and he'll end it,” she snapped her fingers, “just like that.” Felicity heaved a heavy sigh as Thea swallowed another mouthful of tortilla and cheese. “You should give your way a try though, if you really want to.” Thea nodded, wiping her fingers on a paper napkin “Maybe he's changed some since the last time I saw him?”

“You think?”

“Hey, anything is possible.”

“When was the last time you saw him?” Felicity swirled taco sauce absently on her plate with a fork.

“Last Saturday.” 

Felicity sent her friend a wry grin and gulped the rest of her margarita, wincing at the taste. “Once the slush melts these things are terrible.”

“Maybe it'll be different,” Thea went on, almost to herself.

“The margaritas?”

“My brother.” Thea slid her gaze over Felicity, appraising. “You need a ride home, Smoak?” she asked, hoisting her bag out from under her seat.

“Nah,” Felicity fished around in her purse for her wallet, “buses are still running, I figure I can catch one.”

Thea nodded past the neon sign in the window to the sidewalk beyond it, “It's raining.”

“The stop over on Greene has a little bus hut,” Felicity said, tossing a few bills onto the table.

“Are you sure?”

“I'm sure,” Felicity stood and slipped on her cardigan, pulling her umbrella out of her bag.

“Are you in that meeting on Monday?” Thea asked when they were out front of the restaurant, huddled up under the striped awning.

“Yeah,” Felicity popped her umbrella open.

“I'll see you then,” Thea's smile was bright in the orange glow of the blinking 'OPEN' sign. “And do what you think is best,” she continued laying her hand on Felicity's forearm, “with Oliver. Trust yourself, Ok? I think you could be really good for him.”

Felicity nodded, more to herself than anyone else, “See you Monday.” She turned then towards Greene Street, tucking her bag closer into her side, the wind teasing the hem of her skirt as she hustled down the sidewalk. 

_I'll call him on Monday after work_ , Felicity thought as her heels clicked against the pavement. _The sooner the better_. She dodged a plastic bag swirling past her before it swept up and into the gutter. _Tuesday at the latest, Wednesday for sure._ Her head snapped up when she heard the loud roar of a fire engine over the rain on her umbrella, she spun on her toes just in time to see a ladder truck swing wide and head towards the alley next to the fire station. 

Felicity bit her lip as she resumed her walk. _Thea does know him best, and she's my friend_. She darted around a puddle as she crossed the street. _She wouldn't lead me astray. Would she?_ Felicity shook her head slightly, _I shouldn't try and sort this out right now, I've had either way too many margaritas or far too few._ She ducked into the bus shelter, _I'll figure it out tomorrow._

Felicity pulled her cardigan more fully around herself and collapsed her umbrella. She glanced around the nearly empty street and leaned against the cool glass of the enclosure. These early Spring days were always like this, bustling and busy with shoppers and pedestrians. But then the rain would roll through again, and the streets would become deserted, a ghost town. 

She lifted her head and glanced down Greene, eyes peeled for any sign of the bus. Felicity swung her head the other direction, and smiled when she saw the brightly lit windows of the coffee shop. She shivered slightly when her eyes landed on the bank, remembering how Oliver had held her close and kissed her under the tinted windows. For a split second she thought she could feel his hand in her hair, his breath on her cheek.

 _God don't think about that_ , she chastised herself, feeling the blush creep up her neck. _You've still got to get home._ She tucked her cold hands up under her arms. _The time for fantasizing about Mr. Paramedic is not while you're slightly intoxicated and waiting for public transportation_. She shivered again, a small smile on her face, _It's when you're in bed, alone, with the good vibrator._

“Felicity!” _Great, now I'm hallucinating his voice_. “Felicity!” _Not only am I hallucinating his voice, I'm apparently hallucinating his irritated voice_. Then she thought, _Wait, I've never heard his irritated voice,_ right before a strong hand came around her upper arm.

“Oliver?” _God those eyes_. “I'm sorry I was-” she swallowed.

“Lost in thought?”

“Yeah,” she answered, glancing at his mouth, “something like that.”

His smile deepened, “Do you want a ride?” he nodded to the beat-up pickup idling at the curb.

Felicity grinned when the motor clanged loudly, and the chassis shook, “How does that thing even run?”

“A gentle hand that knows what it's doing is all it takes.”

“Really?”

“Yep,” he trailed his palm down her arm, brushing his fingers along the back of her hand. “You'd be surprised how easy it is to get the motor going.”

“And you can do that?” she asked, her grin widening. “You can get the motor going?”

“It might not look like it,” Oliver said with a sly grin, his eyes sweeping over her in open appreciation, “but it's a pretty good ride.”

“I don't know,” she flicked her glance from the rattling truck to his smiling eyes, “I live on the other side of town.”

“I promise,” he strode to the passenger door, thumping the door panel twice, before it swung out with a squeak, “I can get you where you need to go.”

Felicity tilted her head, considering, “Are we still talking about your truck?”

He flattened his hand against his pecs in mock offense, “Why Miss Felicity! What on Earth could you be implying?”

Felicity's fingers brushed against his forearm as she pushed herself up onto the passenger side of the bench seat. “Ok, but you're promising me a ride. Not, this thing conks out and I'm still taking a bus home.”

He smiled as he shut her door, jogging around the bed and levering himself into the driver's seat. “I am,” he nodded as he slammed the door closed, “even if I have to piggy back you there.” He flicked the blinker and eased into traffic, “So, where are we headed?”

“I live on DeYoung, right off 67th.”

“That's just down from the Big Belly, isn't it?”

Felicity let out a laugh, “That's how most people find it.”

“Do you mind if we stop there first?” Oliver pulled up to a red light, the engine rattling noisily, “I kind of had this late lunch, right before we got called in,” his eyes crinkled up at the corner and his lips twitched, “and while the pie was good-”

“The pie was fabulous,” Felicity cut in.

“It was. And the conversation was-” he flicked his tongue out over his lips, “stimulating, but I'm still pretty hungry.”

“You don't have to ask me if I mind, I had a relaxing evening of margaritas and dubious Tex-Mex. And you were probably busy elsewhere.” she swallowed nervously when she saw his eyes cloud over with what looked like regret. “Stop wherever you want Oliver,” her tone was gentle, her eyes soft, “I don't mind going along for the ride.”

When he finally cut the engine, they were parked on a side street half way between her place and Big Belly. Oliver was slurping noisily on his soda and unwrapping the first of two Bacon Bellies with extra ketchup. Felicity reached across the cab and snagged a fry out of the cardboard cup on the dashboard. 

“Hey!” Oliver batted at her hand, his mouth full of food, “No fry snatching!” Felicity unbuckled herself and shifted in the seat, turning to face him. She pinned Oliver with a stare, her eyes sparkling. His mouth tilted up in a grin as he took another bite, while she reached with slow determination to the fry container, pulled one out, and placed it delicately between her lips. “So that's how it's gonna be?” he swallowed and his smile deepened, his voice rumbling through the truck.

“Yeah,” Felicity said with an arch of her brow, “it is.”

He demolished the rest of his burger in two mouthfuls before he crumpled up the paper, stowing it in the take out bag, and dropping it to the floor boards, “Don't you even want ketchup?” he asked, eyes flicking to her mouth.

“Sure,” she said rolling forward, her knees pressing against the seat, leaning into his space. Felicity reached slowly across the bench that separated them. She circled her fingers around his wrist, brushing against the rough cotton of his cargos. Felicity pulled his hand up from where it hand been lying loosely in his lap, bringing it unhurriedly to her parted lips. His breath caught as her tongue swept out and licked the smear of ketchup off the base of his thumb, “Delicious.”

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed out, his other hand rising to tangle in her hair, pulling her mouth down to his, “are we going by the three date rule?”

Felicity smiled then, brushing her lips along his roughly stubbled cheek, “I'd like too.”

“Can this be date two, then?” Oliver asked, eyes dark, tugging on their joined hands to pull her further onto his side of the truck. “There was food, we both ate, nice atmosphere.”

“A nice atmosphere?” Felicity questioned, lips tilted in a smile. 

“Totally a date,” Oliver repeated.

She huffed out a small laugh right before their lips connected. Oliver pulled on her hands again, urging her to lean against him. Felicity sighed into the kiss, her palms creeping up to brace against his strong shoulders, her lithe fingers digging into the soft fabric of his white t-shirt and the hard muscle beneath.

Oliver slanted his lips against her's, licking into her mouth and bringing her nearer still, almost completely into his embrace. Felicity crept further along the bench seat, her knees brushing against his thighs as she shifted closer. Oliver's hands slid down to stroke along her waist before slipping his hands under her flimsy skirt, bracketing her bare hips with his calloused hands, pulling her to straddle his thighs. 

Felicity let out a small gasp as she landed in Oliver's lap. Her gauzy skirt twisted around her waist, his rough hands sending goose bumps up and down her naked legs. She felt his fingers flex against the softness of her upper thighs as she slid her tongue into his mouth again, before biting down gently on his lower lip. Her palms slipped down his (ridiculously) sculpted torso, before coming to rest just at the waist band of his cargos. She trailed her fingers there, just for a moment. Sweeping her hands along the tense lines of his abdomen, knuckles running along the ridge of his fly.

He trailed soft kisses down her chin, under her jaw and along her neck, sucking gently at the hollow of her throat. Felicity tilted her head back with a gasp, panting, “Oliver? Oliver, I-” He hummed against her clavicle, questioning, encouraging. “God, you're good,” she breathed out, rolling her hips against his. He opened his mouth and bit gently on the swell of her breast, and she shivered out a sigh.

“You were saying something?” she could hear the smug grin in his voice as she felt his fingers unbutton her blouse

“I don't remember.”

His hands gripped gently at her hips before sliding around further under her skirt to brush against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. 

Felicity's head tipped forward ,and past the hard line of Oliver's jaw she could see his zipper glinting mutedly in the streetlight. She grasped the tab of his zipper in trembling fingers as Oliver shifted the cup of her bra out of his way, and pulled her straining nipple into his mouth. She tugged then on his zip. Determined to get his dick out of his pants no matter how distracting his lips and tongue were. 

“Oliver,” she sighed out, after finally getting her hands around him. When she gave him a slow, experimental pull, he growled into the skin of her breast, where he'd been sucking an extremely impressive hickey on her cleavage. Oliver's fingers skimmed down over the lace edge of her panties and towards the damp heat at her core, his finger dipping under the fabric and against the already slick lips of her cunt. Felicity jerked back in surprise at the sudden, intimate contact, her butt beeping the truck's horn loudly in the quiet street.

Oliver huffed out a laugh as he tiled his head back to rest on the steamy rear window of the truck. “Maybe we should hold out on this,” he said gruffly, looking up at her under the fringe of his lashes, “until date three?”

“Yeah,” Felicity said breathlessly, “date three.”

She scrambled out of his lap then and back to her side of the cab. Hastily stuffing herself back into her bra and re-buttoning her shirt. Felicity heard Oliver hiss in pain and she glanced over to catch his wince as he struggled to tuck his straining cock back into his cargos. 

She fished around at her feet to snag her purse strap and hoist it onto her shoulder. “I'm just gonna-” she bit her lip nervously and nodded at door handle.

“No,” Oliver said, his hand snaking out to wrap around her wrist, “I said I'd get you home, and I meant it. How far until we get to your place?”

“It's just around the corner,” Felicity said with a small smile, “I can walk from here, it isn't a big deal.”

Oliver pushed open the driver's side door and stepped out into the cool Spring air, “I'll walk you, then.”

Felicity pushed her own door open with a wince at the shrill grind of metal on metal. She braced against the door handle to steady herself before jumping over the gutter down onto the sidewalk. She began to lift herself off the seat when she felt Oliver's palms on her waist, radiating heat through her thin blouse. “Oliver!” she gasped.

“Don't you want a hand?” he said with a cocky grin, fingers spreading up her sides.

“This isn't a hand,” she said, looping her arms around his neck as he lifted her effortlessly to the sidewalk, bringing her to stand just in front of him.

“Oh? What is it then?” he asked, kicking the door shut. 

She ran her hand across his shoulders and down the length of his arms, pressing their palms together and lacing their fingers. “That was something you must have learned in paramedic school.” She tugged on his hand urging him to follow her around the corner.

“Nope,” Oliver said with a shake of his head, swinging their arms as they walked, “you're thinking of the fireman's carry, which is over the shoulder.” He pulled abruptly to a halt, turning her so he could look into her eyes. “I can do that for you though,” he said with a honest grin and mock sincerity, “if you want.”

“Oh, no,” Felicity said with a smile, backing away, “don't you dare.”

“Are you sure?” he pressed on. “Maybe I _should_ carry you to your place. You had that nasty fall this afternoon, remember?”

“Oliver,” she said, her voice full of warning, a smile on her lips.

“Only if you're sure,” he stepped into her space, sliding his hands around her back, and down over her ass, cupping his palms on the back of her thighs, his fingers teasing the hem of her skirt.

“I'm sure,” she placed her palms on his shoulders, and again felt that frisson of electricity run through her.

“Well than I better get you home,” he said, nodding at the surrounding buildings, “Which one is yours?”

Felicity bit back a grin and they crossed a small, landscaped courtyard, to a well-lit vestibule. She paused briefly at the front and keyed her way into the building. “Come on,” Felicity tugged once on their joined hands, pulling him to the elevator bank.

Felicity wasn't sure if she was impressed or disappointed as they stood very casually next to each other in the lobby. It wasn't until she glanced up at Oliver's profile under her lashes that she caught the intensity of his gaze upon her and the undercurrent of tension running through him.

“Which floor” he asked gruffly as the chrome doors slid shut behind them. Felicity reached out with her free hand and pressed the illuminated five. The elevator hummed as it swiftly rose. “This is a nice building. You must have a pretty awesome job to afford this place.” Felicity glanced over just in time to catch Oliver's grimace. “Not that I want to press you about your finances or anything, its just that-” Felicity thought briefly about Thea and her advice, both for and against telling Oliver. She saw him close his eyes and bite his lip, “Money can make people...weird. Never mind, it's none of my business.”

Felicity could see her distorted reflection in the shine of the elevator doors. “I freelance, computer security,” she blinked twice rapidly, and slid her gaze to the carpet. 

She stepped out into the hallway when the doors slid smoothly open, and started down the hallway to her unit. He crowded against her back when she stopped to fish her keys out of her purse. She inserted the key and the door clicked and beeped, releasing the lock. She dropped them back into the abyss of her bag just as his lips dropped to brush along her neck. “Oliver,” Felicity breathed out.

“I was just thinking,” he said softly against her skin, “that was a real nice walk we took to get here, through that little park.”

“You mean the courtyard?”

“It's a very park-like courtyard.” His warm hand slid around to cover her's where it rested against the doorknob, “and a very nice walk though a park could constitute a date.”

“Really?” Felicity couldn't help the heat rising in her, the grin on her face.

“And you _do_ know what date it would be, don't you?”

She turned in his arms and pressed her lips against his, fingers winding around his neck. Felicity felt, rather than heard, Oliver twist the knob behind her back, before she gasped as his hands ghosted along the curve of her ass to cup the backs of her thighs, lifting her effortlessly. She wrapped her legs around his narrow hips as he strode through her apartment.

“My bedroom's the last door on the-”

“Left, I know,” Oliver panted.

“How do you know that?”

“I helped with the fire inspections on these units.”

Felicity nipped at his collarbone through his t-shirt, “Cool story, tell me later. In the morning.”

Oliver's eyes were practically sparkling in the dim light of her bedroom. “In the morning, huh?” he said as he gently lowered her to the floor.

Felicity squeezed her eyes closed, and sighed, “I didn't mean to imply that you'd be staying the night. Well I mean you are obviously staying part of the night with this being our third date, but I in no way mean to assume that you-” Her ramble was brought to a rather abrupt halt when Oliver slanted his mouth over her's and slid his tongue between her lips. 

She smiled against his kiss when she felt his hands open the zipper on the back of her skirt, shivering slightly as the cool air of her apartment reached her skin after the flouncy garment hit the floor. “I'll tell you later,” he whispered reaching for the back of his collar to pull his t-shirt over his head, “in the morning.”

Felicity reached for the waist of his cargos and popped the button with a flick of her wrist, pushing the heavy material aside to run her fingertips along his hardening cock. Oliver stooped slightly, and swiftly unbuttoned the front of her blouse. He pushed the brightly patterned garment off her shoulders to reveal pale, creamy skin that was nearly luminescent in the faint light. Felicity grew impatient with the limited motion afforded her and tugged his boxers down just enough to free him from them. She wrapped slim fingers around him and smiled, “I feel like we've been here before.”

Oliver drew a slow breath through his nose as she ran her palm over the head of his dick, “Yeah,” he nodded, eyes closed.

“Do you have condoms?” Felicity asked, working her other hand into his boxers, her voice low, her cheeks pink.

He unfastened her bra and watched it glide down her arms only to get tangled on her wrist where she cupped him. Felicity took a half step away, releasing him and shaking her bra to the floor. He stepped into her space again, running his calloused hands up the silk of her shoulders. He nodded slowly, “When we're ready.” He pulled her in for a kiss, her hands clutching at his biceps. 

Felicity wasn't entirely sure what happened, but all she knew was that one minute she was lost in the intensity of his kisses and the next she was flat on her back, Oliver braced on his forearms looming over her, their legs tangled, his pants gone. “Pretty slick move there, Oliver.”

“Yeah?” he questioned, licking a stripe up her neck before biting delicately behind her ear. “That's something they don't teach you in paramedic school.”

Felicity's laugh turned into a sigh as he worked his lips and tongue down her body. He paused to lay a gentle kiss on her collarbone before brushing his lips over the vivid mark he'd left on her breast earlier. Felicity parted her knees to better accommodate his shifting body, cradling him with her thighs. Oliver's hips nestled in against her's as he drew one of her nipples into the wet heat of his mouth. 

Felicity carded her fingers through the softness of his hair, working her nails against his scalp from his temples down to his nape, across the delicate shell of his ear, and to the crown of his head. He shivered when she ran her nails along the back of his neck. 

Oliver bit back a groan and pressed more kisses along the underside of her breasts and against her ribs before moving further down to the softness of her belly. Felicity sighed as she parted her thighs further to accommodate the breadth of his shoulders. He ran his fingers along the narrow band where her panties crossed her hips, nipping at the faint red marks the elastic had left on her fair skin. He hooked his thumbs under the delicate lace, and drew them slowly down her, shifting back onto his knees to pull them past her thighs, down her calves and off. He let his eyes trace over the soft contours of her body, her rosy nipples, her kiss-swollen lips, the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Oliver felt his cock twitch as he resettled himself between her legs.

Felicity tensed slightly at the first press of his mouth just below her navel. “I'll stop,” Oliver whispered, eyes burning with desire, “if that's what you want.”

“No,” she breathed out, “that's not what I- I just-” she closed her eyes and took a steadying breath. “It's our first time and I don't want you to feel oblig-”

“Don't finish that sentence,” Oliver growled out, dipping his head to lick at the delicate skin where her thigh met her body. His lips and teeth trailed along the softness of her inner thigh over flesh previously mapped by his hands in the truck. He brought his mouth back to suck another bruise low on her stomach, just above her mons. “I promise you,” he said softly, “this is no obligation.”

“Ok,” Felicity's voice was high and slightly strangled as she felt the first ghost of his hot breath on the damp folds of her cunt. 

Oliver flicked his tongue out gently against the top of her slit. Felicity's hands gripped in his hair as she gasped. At his small grunt of surprise she released her hold on him and clenched her hands in the sheets. 

“Sorry, I'm sorry,” she panted out, “you startled me, I wasn't expecting- Well, _obviously_ I was expecting, because your head is _right there_ between my- You know what? I'm just gonna-” she squeezed her eyes shut, and took a slow deep breath.

Oliver smiled against her, eyes searching her pinking face, clearly embarrassed by the tumble of words, “If you say stop, I'll stop.” He placed a wet, open mouth kiss against her thigh, “And if you insist on pulling my hair, I'm sure I'll survive. Ok?”

Her white knuckled grip eased slightly on the linen as she exhaled her breath, “Ok.”

Oliver kept his eyes on her face as he lowered his mouth again to her. He was slow, patient, almost reverent in his exploration of her. Oliver started with his tongue on the sides of her knees, nipping as his teeth grazed along her inner thighs, before settling himself again at their apex. 

Felicity held her breath until she felt the wet rasp of his tongue on her overheated skin again, his breath was hot, his lips soft. She exhaled a shaky sigh and tried to relax despite the growing tension in her legs. He blew out a puff of air on her sensitive flesh as his hands settled behind her knees, keeping her pressed open to his heated gaze. Oliver slid his mouth against the skin between her hips, his stubble barely grazing her as she gripped the sheets harder. The prickling of his beard contrasted with the softness of his mouth and the slight sting of his teeth was nearly too much to bear. 

Oliver worked her then with a skill and dedication she shouldn't be surprised by, given his (previous) reputation. He alternated between sweeping the flat of his tongue against her in broad stokes with little sucking kisses against her labia and clit. Darting his tongue into her often enough to keep her panting and on edge. 

Felicity was heaving little gasping breaths as she fought to keep her legs from kicking and her hips from bucking up into his mouth. He was working around her clit in slow circles, her head pressed back into the pillows exposing the marked skin of her throat as she arched, “Oliver- Oliver, I-”

She felt his finger's flex then against the back of her knee, slowly sliding up her thigh, “Felicity, is it alright if I-”

“Yes,” bit her lip, “it's fine, whatever is fine.”

Oliver smiled again as he pressed one thick finger into her. Felicity gasped and rocked her hips against his hands, desperate to get as much of him as possible inside of her. He touched his tongue again to her clit and crooked his finger inside her, pressing and stroking until he could feel her tightening around him and she was unabashedly rocking up against his face, fingers tight in the sheets. She came suddenly in a wet rush, gasping and overwhelmed, knees trembling, her breathing labored.

“Stop, stop wait,” she whispered shakily, pushing against his hands and curling in on herself.

“Are you alright?” he asked, concern flashing in his expressive eyes. 

“I'm fine,” she said groggily, face pressed to the pillow, “it's just a lot.” _Oh my God_ , she thought, _if it's like that when it's just his mouth and fingers? What's it going to be like when it's his dick inside me?_

Oliver settled on the bed next to her. An arm curled around her back, a gentle press of his lips on her brow. Felicity uncurled enough to nestle into his warmth, all too aware of his erection pressing against the tender skin of her belly. She felt his hand sweep up her spine and down her sensitive ribs. She shivered and huffed out a laugh, burrowing further into him. She felt his smile against her cheek as she heard a crinkling and then, “I think we're ready.”

“For what?” she questioned softly as he rolled her onto her back, her thighs parting to cradle his hips.

Oliver sat back on his heels and smiled as he flashed the silver of the condom wrapper in the palm of his hand. 

Felicity let out another slow breath and let her eyes slip closed. She felt the mattress shift as he planted one hand on the sheets next to her head, as he spread her thighs further, urging her with tender touches to shift her knees up against the sides of his ribs. Felicity skimmed her hands up his arms, and across his back before resting them gently on the solid muscle of his shoulders. He reached down with his other hand to grip at the base of his cock, sweeping the tip slowly against her wet heat.

“Felicity,” Oliver's voice was low and heavy, “are you ready?”

“Yes,” she whispered, turning her head to feel the rush of his panted breath against her cheek. Felicity felt his shoulders tense under her fingers as his hips dipped and pressed forward seeking entrance and both of their pleasure. Felicity's nails bit into his skin as she squeezed her eyes shut when the burn of the stretch became nearly too much to bear. “Oliver,” she moaned, “oh, God.”

“Should I stop?” she felt his stubble against the shell of her ear, his hips stilling.

“Don't you dare,” she flexed her fingers against the tightly held muscles of his back, forcing herself to relax.

Oliver pulled out slightly, placing a kiss under her ear, nipping at the lobe, before pressing in again. 

Felicity's fingers worked across his shoulders and up to the nape of his neck, threading through the soft strands of his hair. “I said I'd survive hair pulling,” he whispered, trailing kisses from her ear across her cheek to the corner of her mouth, “but I might have been lying.”

She huffed out a laugh as he kissed her smile, “I promise I'll be gentle with you.”

“Good,” he said as he slipped his tongue back between her lips, flicking it against her teeth, and over the roof of her mouth, as with one last slide he bottomed out within her.

Oliver pulled back again and began fucking into her in a slow rhythm, determination writ across his face. 

“Oliver,” Felicity sighed out, flexing her fingers in the strength of his biceps and wrapping her legs higher around his back. 

He knew the moment she was really ready; relaxed, completely and utterly. She was nearly boneless on the mattress. Oliver smiled then, braced himself on the bed and began to fuck her in earnest. 

As her half sighs and soft pants turned into sharp cries and throaty moans his smile deepened. 

When her hips began to roll up to meet him he grit his teeth and pressed his eyes closed, determined to keep it together for just a little longer. 

After she shivered apart underneath him he pressed his face into the side of her neck and held his breath. 

Felicity stroked his back through the fine sheen of sweat and begged, “Please, Oliver. Please.” He gasped, and gave her what she asked for.

He curled around her after. Felicity was already breathing shallow and half asleep. Oliver slung an arm around her middle and realized he did want to stay the night, and maybe part of the next day, and maybe even brunch next weekend if he could get the shift off, and maybe a whole lot of days after that. 

_There's so much wrong I've done,_ Oliver thought hazily. _But, maybe this could be good._

He caught their reflection in the mirror hanging on the back of her bedroom door. He looked as relaxed as he felt. His hair sticking up from the insistent tugging of her fingers, faint teeth marks on his collar bone and scratches across his shoulders. Felicity herself looked sleepy, soft, and sated, the beard burn along her neck matched by beard burn between her thighs. 

He didn't flinch.


	3. Chapter 3

Oliver was slow to wake. 

His eyes were heavy and his body ached. 

But it was more than that. 

More than just the middle aged father and his heart attack the day before, more than just the kid who fell off the monkey bars and broke both arms, more than just the elderly woman who woke up next to an unresponsive husband. More than just the bone deep exhaustion of four days of twelve hour shifts. More than just family drama and the unrelenting stress from his father. 

He was slow to wake because he didn't want to wake. He didn't want morning. He didn't want to leave the comfort and soft heat against his side, the gentle hand curled over his shield tattoo, the warm bed and tangled blankets of one Felicity Smoak.

“Hey,” her voice was creaky with sleep, “I didn't hear you come in last night.”

“I didn't want to wake you,” he moved the arm that was under her shoulders up to cradle her back.

“Did you eat?”

Oliver smiled at the ceiling thinking about the yellow sticky note she'd left on the door of the bathroom. _'Pls eat something. Mu shu in the fridge.'_ “Of course I did. You know how I feel about dubious Chinese leftovers.”

Felicity pushed up on her elbows and smiled down at him. “Do you have the whole day?”

“No,” Oliver ran his palm along the soft curve of her spine. “I've got family stuff and then half an afternoon shift.” Her smile faltered then. “But,” he continued with a grin, “I'm off at eight, so if you're up for a late dinner...” he trailed off, brushing her hair back off her temple.

“Are you asking me out?” Felicity prompted in mock surprise.

“I was trying to,” he answered, his smile shifting into a smirk.

Felicity stacked her hands on his chest and rested her chin on top of them, “Don't you think that's a little fast?”

“You're absolutely right,” he said, nodding seriously.

“I have very delicate sensibilities,” she continued with a grin.

“Of course,” Oliver smirked down at her, “I've only been sneaking in here for what? Four months now? That's way to soon to be taking you out.”

“Seventeen weeks,” Felicity said, pushing up on her palms and slinging her leg across his thighs. Oliver's hands rose to bracket her ribs as he hummed questioningly. “Not four months,” he smiled when she rolled her hips and his eyes flicked closed, “you've been coming for seventeen weeks.”

His eyebrow quirked and the smile lines appeared abound his still closed eyes, “ _You've_ been coming for seventeen weeks.”

Felicity huffed out a laugh, “Seriously? Did you just make a 'that's what she said' joke?”

Oliver slid his hands down her sides and pressed the tips of his fingers into the soft skin of her hips. His smile deepened, eyes still shut. “It's true, though.” 

He turned his face then to brush his lips along Felicity's palm when he felt her fingers drift up to cradle his cheek. Oliver heard her breath catch and in one swift movement he had her pinned beneath him. 

Felicity sighed as the deliciousness of his weight pressed her into the mattress, her fingers trailing from where they'd been stroking along his jaw to run through his close cropped hair. 

Oliver laced their fingers together, tugging her other hand up to where her tousled curls spread across the pillows. He smiled down at her. And following the urging of her nails against his scalp, he lowered his mouth to her neck. 

Felicity moaned her contentment, low and in the back of her throat as he worked slowly to the hollow of her throat. Felicity's thighs spread of their own accord to encourage his hips to rock slowly against her.

It had been more like this recently, gentle and slow. 

Oliver always called, in the beginning, after that whirlwind of a first day. He was almost timid on the phone. He'd announce he had a shift off, and he'd make offers of take out, and movies at her place. Claiming exhaustion and just wanting a night in. 

Felicity was quick to agree, her resolve solidified in their time apart. _I'll tell him,_ she'd vow, _all of it, this time for sure._ That she worked for QC, was good friends with his sister, that she knew who he was. But then she would buzz him up, and unlatch her door, and lock eyes with him. Exhausted, brittle around the edges, and looking so damn grateful to see her. 

He'd dump take-out bags, and a six pack of beer on the tiny counter of her galley kitchen, and wrap her up in his arms. And she crumbled, every time. “It's so good to see you,” he'd breathe into her ear, the callouses on his palms catching on strands of her hair.

After their first few dinners at her place, Oliver stopped waiting for his days or nights off. He would call after some Hellish shift, and ask, almost beg to see her. He'd stumble into her apartment, eyes shadowed and jaw clenched, consume huge amounts of suspicious left overs, and fall asleep on her couch curled tightly around her. He'd jerk awake after an hour or two, make his apologies, and beat a hasty exit.

Then Oliver stopped asking permission at all. Felicity would jerk awake in the dead of night. Oliver ringing up frantically from her building's main entrance. Felicity would stumble, her heart in her throat, to the intercom to buzz him in. She'd crack open the door when she heard the elevator ding to find him, wild-eyed and hunted on her welcome mat. He'd take her to bed then, frantic and rushed. Like he was exorcising his demons within the softness of her body.

The sixth time she buzzed him up in the wee hours of the night, she pulled away from his desperate, searching kiss to pant out, “Oliver, not tonight I-” He backed away from her then, confusion in his eyes. She sent him a reassuring smile, running her hands along his forearms, “It's my,” her cheeks flushed and she looked away, “my time of the month. And I'm not really-”

He'd folded her into his arms then. His hands making a long sweeping journey up, and across her back. “We don't have to if you don't-” she felt his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. “Can I still sleep here tonight? Even if we're-”

“Of course,” she'd interrupted him, tugging him into her room.

Oliver had quickly stripped and climbed between the soft sheets. Felicity opened her arms and pulled him against her chest, stroking her hands over his neck and along his shoulders. Studiously ignoring his trembling limbs, his shuddering breath, and the dampness as his tears soaked her skin.

The next morning she gave him her spare key and the pass-code for the lobby door over blueberry pancakes and scrambled eggs. 

Felicity let out a startled gasp as a sharp nip to the underside of her chin pulled her back into now.

“Are you with me, Felicity?” his eyes danced as he pressed her knee up with a warm palm and pushed his narrow hips forward into the cradle of her thighs. 

“I'm with you, Oliver,” she breathed out. Her sigh caressing his lips as he leaned in for another languid kiss.

It was slow and sweet and (if she wasn't afraid of being honest with herself) it was _perfect_. Felicity brushed her fingers along his stubble-roughened cheek. Oliver's forehead pressed into her neck. He slipped his hand between their bodies and rolled her clit delicately between his calloused fingers. Felicity was quickly done, tipping gently over the edge. Her limbs folding on the mattress in a contented heap. Moments later Oliver spilled into her with a soft groan, flexing against her once, twice, before rolling them smoothly onto their sides.

“Are you sure you'll be up for dinner,” Felicity asked, “after your family, and a shift?”

They hadn't talked about his family in any formal way (obviously) but what he had confessed to her early on was that they were overbearing, and controlling, but probably still well-meaning deep inside.

“Of course,” he pulled out then, Felicity wincing slightly at the sensation. “For our first date? I'll show you the night of your life.” He bent in for another heated kiss before sliding off the bed and heading to the shower. He turned just before he crossed the threshold and shot her a silly grin, eyes dancing, his hands folding into finger guns, “Or my name isn't Oliver Dearden.”

Felicity managed to hang onto her smile all through breakfast until she waved good bye to him from her door. Sending Oliver off with a lingering kiss on his lips, and doubt in her heart.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Oliver slipped in the back door of the massive kitchen. His eyes darted furtively around the bright space, searching for any signs of his parents. He heard foot steps rapidly skipping down the back staircase and with a knowing smirk, he ducked into the dry goods pantry.

He hunkered down on the highly polished tile floor, half crouched behind a wall peg full of aprons. He heard sneakers squeak to a stop on the other side of the louvered doors, and then, “You're really terrible at this.” Thea pulled the door open, flooding the small space with light.

“How did you-” he started, unfolding his body and pulling himself up to his full height.

“I heard that rattletrap roll into the driveway about five minutes ago,” Thea nodded out the window to the cobble stone drive where his truck was parked, “so I just waited at the top of the stairs.”

“I could have come in the front door,” Oliver sniffed a tad defensively.

Thea laughed, light and true, “You haven't come in the front door since-” her smile faltered slightly as she glanced up at him. An apology in her eyes.

“Hey,” Oliver said gently sliding an arm around her shoulders and pulling her in for a hug.

“Mr. Oliver?”

“Mr. Oliver?” he teased glancing up, “Come on Raisa, I don't even live here any more.”

Raisa's low heels clicked across the floor as she approached them, “You know how Mr. Queen feels about protocol,” she said rolling onto her tip toes to fold him into a lavender scented hug.

“Obviously,” Oliver said laughing.

Thea wiggled between them, throwing her arms around them both, “Totally sticklers for decorum around here.”

“But it is time,” Raisa continued cupping their cheeks in her weathered palms, her eyes flicking between the two of them.

“For what?” he smiled at the older women. Watching as she retreated to hover by the massive double doors that lead to the rest of the main floor.

“You have been requested, My Dear. In your father's study.”

Oliver sighed and gave Thea one last comforting squeeze, before leaving the security of the kitchen and entering the rest of the manor. 

The house smelled the same, lemon oil and wool. The heavy walnut furniture was as mirror-shined as it ever was. The distance between the end of the kitchen hall and his father's study was still precisely fifty-three steps.

Oliver had to close his eyes at the rushing, overwhelming sensation of being fifteen again, about to be lectured for stealing his mom's Audi and going for a joy ride with Tommy. Of being seventeen and starting to feel the strain of a looming Ivy League Legacy with his C average and zero extracurriculars. Of having turned just nineteen and being at home for the summer. Two weeks into the vacation when he and Tommy- 

Oliver shook is head, clearing the painful memories, lifting his fist to knock on his father's door.

“Is that you, Oliver?”

He slid the door open, “Yeah, Mom. Raisa said Dad was looking for me?”

“Oh, no Dear,” she said rising gracefully from the leather settee near the window. “I need to speak with you.”

“Ok,” Oliver replied, his brow furrowing in question.

“It's about,” Moira shifted guiltily from foot to foot, licking her upper lip apprehensively, “it's about your future-”

“No.”

“Your future in the company,” Moira barreled on. 

“I'm done discussing this.”

“Your father feels he has been more than patient with you in this matter,” she raised her hands placatingly and took a hesitant step towards him.

“Patient?” Oliver bit the inside of his cheek to keep his rising anger in check.

“I know you like... this,” she said gesturing helplessly at his jeans and work boots, scruffy chin and worn t-shirt, “working at the fire station. Your father knows how you feel. How important public service is.”

“Yeah,” Oliver folded his arms across his chest, “it is important. That's why I do it.”

Moira let out as exasperated sigh. “He just wants some assurance, Oliver. That's all. That some day, you'll be ready.” Oliver turned on his heel and strode to the half open door. He paused when he felt the frailty of his mother's thin fingers close around his arm. “You don't have to,” she tugged on him then, pulling him around so she could look into his eyes, “you don't have to do penance like this, Oliver. Not forever.”

“When's lunch?” Oliver flexed his hands, digging his fingernails into the meat of his palm.

“Now,” his mother said as she hesitantly removed her hand, “in the dining room.”

Oliver locked eyes with her, and nodded, dreading the confrontation to come.

Lunch would be a strained affair. But Oliver knew he was working on a limited time frame, and focused on that. He had to be back at the station in time for his half shift to start at two. He smiled to himself, thinking of his date with Felicity, and what was to come after.

Oliver sat himself in the opulent dining room, grit his teeth and clenched his hands into fists.

“I'd like to thank you, son,” Robert said as he took a sip from his water glass, “for coming in the side gate and parking behind the house.” Oliver's eyes flicked up from his Greek salad to lock with Thea's. “I would hate for one of the neighbors to see that thing and-”

“How would that even happen?” Thea blurted out, “No one comes up here without a gilded invitation.”

“I was just trying to thank your brother for his thoughtfulness,” Robert bustled on, slightly offended. “It's probably the first considerate thing your brother has done for his mother in ages, I would just like it noted.”

“It's been noted,” Moira said with a tight smile that didn't reach her eyes.

“You told me when I was nineteen,” Oliver said, unwilling to meet his father's gaze, “if I was going to be a public servant, I should use the servant's entrance.” 

“Have you seen Merlyn lately?” Robert took a long sip from his tumbler of scotch, apparently eager to rub salt in more old wounds.

“Why would I have seen him lately?” Oliver asked, eyes again on his plate.

“I never liked him when you ran around with him,” Robert said, “but I like your new friends less.”

Oliver took a slow breath through his nose and relaxed his grip on his fork, “I'd ask you who the 'right friends' are Dad, but I'm pretty sure I don't want to know.”

Robert's eyes, though blurry, still burned, “If only you'd listened to me,” he spat out, “things could be so much better. I didn't like Tommy when you were boys, which isn't surprising considering what the two of you got into, but-” Robert took another pull off his glass, “but he's turned out so well.”

“You mean 'So like his father'?”

“Yes,” Robert said grimly, “he's turned himself into someone Malcolm can be proud of. I can't help but think that your mother and I should have helped you when you were in trouble the way Malcolm helped Tommy.”

“I thought 'leaving me in the bed I made' was the only choice,” Oliver struggled to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“I though that, at the time,” Robert confessed, “But now Tommy is on his way to being the CEO of Merlyn Global, and my son is playing Fireman Sam.”

“Why are we talking about Tommy Merlyn anyway?” Thea cut in, her eyes skipping from her father, to Oliver and back.

“I was just wondering if your brother had been invited-”

Oliver followed his mother's hand as it fluttered from her lap to her husband's arm, “Tommy and Laurel dear,” she said, smiling at Oliver reassuringly, “they're getting married. Next spring.”

“That's... great,” he faltered over the word as it come across his tongue, but found that he meant it.

Oliver hastily swallowed the last mouthful of food on his plate, swiping at the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “I've got to get going,” he said to the table, nodding to Thea.

“So soon,Ollie?”

He hated the way her eyes widened against her face. “Yeah,” he said softly with the most reassuring smile he could muster, “I've got to get to work.”

“Work?” his father bit out from the head of the table.

“Yeah, Dad,” Oliver said, pushing his chair in.

“Ready to put in your time? Another overworked, and underpaid nine-to-fiver?”

Oliver gripped the ornate carving across the back of the dining chair. “I do alright.”

Robert's laugh was harsh and bitter, “You drive a death trap and you live in a rat hole.” He shook his head, a smirk on his face, “That's a Hell of a definition of 'alright'.”

“It's not a rat hole,” Oliver said, voice low, a distinct slump to his shoulders.

“The only thing sleazier than your apartment,” Robert ground out, his cutlery clanging against the china plate, “is those women you take up with.”

“Hey!” Thea shouted, a frown marring her delicate features. Oliver sent her a surprised glance, startled by her outburst, especially against their father. Thea slumped in her seat, drawing into herself, looking around guiltily. “I liked what's her name,” she continued hastily, eyes locked on the water glass clenched in her fist, “the Zumba instructor.”

Oliver grinned at her then. Caught in a light and hazy what if. _Maybe it's about time to introduce her to..._

Oliver jolted visibly when his phone beeped, loud even from the depths of his pocket. “It's Digg,” he announced after a quick perusal of the message. Sliding the phone back into his pocket, “I've got to go. I'm not going to be late for work,” he said, half turning.

Robert placed his hands flat on the linen table cloth, straightening his place setting with quick movements of his fingers, “That isn't your _real_ work, son.” Oliver clenched his hands at his sides at the endearment. “Your true calling is with me. At the company.”

“Real work?” Oliver sneered, his temper getting the better of him, “Ducking meetings with shareholders? Paying lawyers to figure out exactly how much you can shirk EPA guidelines? Getting a handy from your secretary on a private jet? That's real work?”

“Oliver!” his mother's hand lifted to the neckline of her dress, shock written across her face.

“I don't want that, Dad,” Oliver said over his shoulder retreating towards the kitchen hallway. “I don't want any part of your life.”

Oliver stormed through the house, out the kitchen door and back to his truck. He gripped the handle to the point of being surprised the metal didn't bend under his fingers and wrenched the door open heedless of the hinges squealing in protest. Oliver launched himself at the seat, gripping the wheel until his knuckles blanched white, gritting his teeth until he thought they'd shatter in his jaw. He smacked his palm then against the cracked leather of the wheel, wincing at the pain, pressing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets so hard he saw shooting stars behind his closed lids.

“I know, Raisa,” He said defeatedly, lowering his hands from his face, “I shouldn't yell at the table.”

She stretched one arm through the open driver's window and wrapped her hand around his still-clenched fist. “You forgot this, my dear,” she heaved a paper grocery sack up to the window full to bursting with leftovers.

Oliver sent her a smile, the hard edges of his anger softening, “This looks like more than normal,” he said lowering the food onto the seat next to himself. “Are you trying to fatten me up still?”

“There is enough for two.”

“Two?” Oliver asked, his alarm rising. “Why would you se-”

“Who, precisely, do you think you are fooling?” she interrupted with an arch of her brow.

Oliver huffed out a laugh before his face fell, “She doesn't know.”

“About your trouble?” Raisa questioned him gently, her fingers tightening on his, her thumb rubbing reassuringly along the back of his hand.

“No,” he said with a slow shake of his head, “not about that, not about the family, or the money, none of it.”

“Oh,” Raisa said with a slow nod pulling her fingers back to rest curled around the window's edge.

“It's just,” he shook his head firmly, “she's so _good_. And I'm-” he swallowed heavily, “I'm _not_. And if she knew. She'd-”

“Do you want to build a life with this girl?” Raisa asked, bold and to the point.

“Jesus, Raisa, you can't just come out and ask me that! I've only known her for a few- I mean- God, Raisa, she's _great_ \- It's just, I don't- I mean, _yes_. I _would_. She's just-”

“Then she should know who you are,” Raisa took a half step back from his truck and smiled. “I'll see you in two weeks, my dear.”

Oliver's truck rattled to a stop in the nearly desolate cobblestone alley behind the station house, clanking twice before stuttering to a halt and belching out one final puff of acrid smoke. 

He pulled the key from the ignition and stuffed it into the hip pocket of his cargoes. He stormed into the building slamming the door closed with more force than strictly necessary.

“Hey, Junior!” Slade called down peering through the hole at the top of the fireman's ladder. “It's nice to see you actually on time for once!”

“That was five years ago, Wilson!” Oliver called back up, ducking into the stairwell that lead to the living area above the trucks. 

“Thanks again for swapping with me,” Slade said, pulling his sneakers on.

“It's nothing,” Oliver said over his shoulder, stashing the bag of leftovers in the fridge.

“Some day, Junior,” Slade said, clapping on the back before jogging down the stairs, “you'll have a very lovely wife, and I'll cover for you on your wedding anniversary.”

“Yeah,” Oliver said, smiling at the door as it swung shut behind his friend, “someday.”

Oliver turned when he heard the inner office door creak open, “Is Wilson gone?”

“Yeah,” he strolled to his locker, “you just missed him.”

“Damn,” Diggle cursed out lowly, “we have to get those inspection sheets in.”

“Really?” Oliver fished around in the back of his locker for his tablet.

“End of the month,” the Chief said ducking back into his dim office.

Oliver settled himself on his bunk, popped his ear buds in and began scrolling his queue for movies when, “Are you coming?” John shouted from behind the closed door.

“Why?” Oliver smirked.

He could hear his boss' great exhale, even through the barrier of a door and the noise in his ear. “Because,” John enunciated the syllables carefully, irritation dripping from every word, “it's the End of the Month.”

“And?” Oliver bit the inside of his cheeks and schooled his features as best he could.

“God dammit,” John growled out, “would you just get in here!”

“Jeeze Digg,” he said with practiced innocence, strolling into the office, “you just had to ask.”

“You know,” Digg said hours later as they slid, hungry and exhausted into the front of the truck, “I bet you're regretting that bull about, 'anything being better than paperwork'.”

Oliver slugged down the last of his stale coffee and tossed the strained Styrofoam cup into a wire trash can under the blinking EMERGENCY sign. “When I said that,” he said settling into the passenger seat, “I wasn't expecting-” he heaved out a sigh, “whatever the Hell tonight has been.”

What tonight had been was a two alarm fire in a nursing home (an overloaded circuit in a resident's room), a portable bleacher seat full of cheering parents collapsing at a little league game (someone forgot to lock the hinges down), and a young woman going into labor on the crosstown bus (six pound eight ounce boy, handsome little thing).

“Well,” Digg quipped, putting the truck into gear, “there's a half hour till Wilson comes back. So that's enough time to-”

“Oh God, Digg, please.”

“-finish-”

“Do we have to?”

“-the paperwork.”

Oliver groaned dramatically, and flung himself sideways in his seat. “I'd rather do anything-”

“Don't,” Diggle said in a warning tone.

“-than that stupid, fuc-” whatever further complaints Oliver had were drowned by the screech of the radio crackling to life.

“Do you see what you do?” John scolded him, pulling the hand unit up to his mouth, “Medic seven. Paramedics Diggle and Dearden. En route from Starling General.”

“This is going to be a nightmare,” Oliver said straightening up in his seat.

“What makes you say that?” John asked, switching the sirens on and hitting the lights.

“You said there was a half hour left, until Wilson gets in.”

“Yeah?” his Chief prompted, eyes on the traffic in front of them.

“So, it's seven thirty.” Oliver stated flatly.

“Ok?”

“The Rocket's game?” 

“Aww, shit,” Diggle grunted out, swerving suddenly and turning up Billson Avenue.

“Wharf all the way across to the highway,” Oliver went on, bracing himself against the roof of the ambulance, “it's going to be a mess.”

“Well,” Diggle said swinging wide onto 54th, “I hope you don't have plans tonight.”

When they pulled away from Mr. Steving's house, they assured his wife he'd be fine.

“We'll meet you at St. Agnes,” Diggle said as they slid him into the back of the ambulance.

Mrs. Steving pressed her shaking fingers to her trembling lips, “My Paul?” she whispered, “He'll be... He'll be al-”

“I'll sit in the back with him,” Oliver offered, sending her a winning smile.

“Oh,” tears began to fill her eyes, “thank you, son, that means so much to-”

“Mrs. Steving?” a woman approached then, in jeans and a Rocket's cap, “Do you need me to help you to the hospital?”

“Can you call Laura, dear?” she asked as the younger woman led her by the elbow back to her small brick house, and Oliver climbed into the seat next to the man in the stretcher. 

“Your grand-daughter?” the neighbor asked, as Oliver reached out to slam the doors shut, “Of course.” 

Oliver checked Mr. Steving's vitals again. “I'm going to start an IV,” he called to Digg, “if we get stuck in the traffic from the Rocket's game...”

“Yeah,” Diggle shouted back hitting the lights and sirens, “that's not a bad idea.”

Oliver stood, bracing his feet against the sway of the truck and rummaged in one of the overhead bins for an IV kit. 

At his manslaughter trial, six months later, Mr. Luke Carson would claim that the traffic around the stadium after the Rocket's game was so bad and it made him so angry that when he saw cars in the opposite lane pull over, he just... went for it. Steering his humvee into oncoming traffic and gunning it. 

He'd state later, under oath, “I was just so short sighted. It never occurred to me that the traffic had parted for an emergency vehicle. I was just filled with road rage, and I just wanted to make that left turn. I mean, I'd been sitting almost to the corner for like... fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. Don't we all get like that? Sometimes?”

Diggle didn't get the chance to brake, much less call back a warning to his partner when he saw the SUV jump to their lane and come straight for them. Suddenly, Oliver found himself airborne as the ambulance did a cartwheel into the stopped line of traffic. And by the time they had skidded to a halt ten feet away, smoke rising ominously from the caved-in front end, Oliver's world had already blinked out anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a lot of this narrative is a little non linear and there are some unmarked time jumps. This is to reflect the disjointed state of the POV character. I hope it doesn't bother anyone too much, but the muse insisted it be this way.

_He's late._ Felicity took a deep breath. _Ok, that's not completely unusual. He has,_ she shook her head, _time awareness disorder_. Glancing at her phone for (what must have been) the twentieth time in five minutes, _Although four hours is pushing it._ She sighed again, and placed it on her coffee table.

She crossed into her kitchen and mindlessly began unloading her dishwasher. _It's fine,_ she scolded herself, _he'll walk in here in five minutes and you'll feel like a giant nerd for ever worrying about it_. Felicity grabbed a sponge and began to wipe furiously at the stove top. _He's fine, there was bad traffic because of the game and he'll_ , she swallowed back a hiccuping breath, _he'll call_.

She gripped the edge of the counter, uncertainty rolling through her, when her cell rang. 

Felicity nearly vaulted her sofa in her haste to reach her phone. Blinking twice before she realized it was Thea and not Oliver.

“Hello?” she struggled to control the fine tremor in her voice.

“Oh, God, Felicity,” Thea sobbed out.

“What-” she swallowed down the bile rising in her throat, “what happened, Thea? Are you alright? Is everything alright?”

“No,” Thea wept brokenly over the phone, “can I,” her friend sniffed loudly, “can I come by? I just, I mean- You need- _Oliver_.”

“Of course,” Felicity answered, her voice as tight as her hold on the fear bubbling in her chest, “of course you can. I'll buzz you up, ok?”

“Ok,” Thea's answer was watery, and distant. And then she was gone.

Felicity placed the phone face down on the counter, and traced the circuit board pattern on the case absently with her finger, mind blank, eyes wide, breath coming in short.

 _This is panic,_ she thought to herself, _I need to stop- stop- stop- Splash some water on your face, Smoak. Keep it together_. She turned then, shivers chasing up and down her body. Crossing to the bathroom, she placed a faintly tremoring hand on the knob. Felicity felt like her chest was collapsing, and let out a harsh exhale. Her eyes flicked up, drawn to a sticky note fluttering to the floor, dislodged by her panting breath. 

Her own handwriting stared back at her when she plucked the post-it off the floor. Felicity clenched the note in her fist as she darted back across to her kitchen and wrenched the door of the refrigerator open.

“It's gone,” she breathed out into the still and empty space, “it's gone.” She jerked the door to the cabinet under the sink open and pulled out her trashcan. There on top, two takeout boxes and a set of disposable chopsticks. Felicity shoved the can back under the sink as if it were poison, and pressed her hand over her mouth, choking back a sob. And gripped the edge of the counter, her fingers brushing against the edge of her phone.

“Thea's coming,” she chastised herself quietly, “Thea's coming and she's...” Felicity swallowed back another sob, “He's her brother and he's...”

Felicity turned on one heel and all but marched back to the bathroom, “Keep it together,” she whispered turning the tap on the sink all the way to hot, “He's her _brother_ , he's _her_ brother.” She splashed the scalding water across her cheeks, and clenched her jaw, pushing it down, locking it in. _Her brother_. 

Felicity checked her phone again and realized with some surprise that thirty minutes had passed. She dashed out to the window by the elevator to see if she could spot Thea in the courtyard, and tried to keep all the rolling, riotous feelings at bay. 

_You're being ridiculous,_ she scolded herself and walked back to her apartment. She locked the door, and pressed her forehead against the door jamb, one hand still on the knob. 

She startled then, as her door buzzed loudly. Felicity took another steadying breath and pulled it open to a distraught Thea. She locked eyes with Felicity, pupils blown wide. 

“Oh, God,” Thea breathed out, pulling Felicity into a tight hug, “I'm so sorry Felicity, oh God.”

Felicity gripped her tightly by the shoulders and pulled her into the unit, steering her to the sofa and forcing her to sit.

“What happened?” Felicity gripped Thea's pale fingers in her own.

“It's Oliver,” Thea replied still faint and distant. “There was-” she swallowed, “there was an accident, and he's-” Thea slumped forward then pressing her damp face into Felicity's shoulder. “I was going to call you and have you come, but,” Thea sniffed loudly again, “I wasn't sure if...”

“Nobody knows,” Felicity answered her unspoken question. “I haven't told- didn't get to tell him... him that I-” _love him,_ “that I know,” she ran her leaden hands slowly up and down Thea's back, “And he hasn't said anything either.”

“He wanted to,” Thea whispered, “I think he was getting ready to tell-”

“Here,” Felicity said slipping an arm around her friend's shoulders and helping her stand, “it's the middle of the night, and you should sleep.” She gently guided her overwrought friend into the small bedroom, and lowered her onto her freshly laundered sheets, pushing her feelings into the hollow place that had formed her chest. “You've had a terrible day, you should sleep.”

“I don't want to put you out,” Thea slurred as Felicity slipped off her jacket.

“You're not,” Felicity reassured, propping Thea's feet up on the bed and pulling off her shoes, “you're like my sister, Thea.”

“I wanted that,” Thea said softly pressing her cheek into the pillow. “Took you out there to meet him. You know that?” She rolled slightly away from Felicity then, “I thought you'd be good. Talking circles around him,” Felicity draped the coverlet around her friend and backed up to the door. “You'd never know how tongue-tied and flustered he can get.” Thea's voice was fading in her exhaustion, “And you're so smart Felicity, especially in all the ways he was stupid.”

Felicity stepped over the threshold into her living room and closed the door firmly behind herself. She slumped to her sofa, sank into the cushions, and laughed at how transparent they were. How it had been so obvious, but neither of them had ever known.

_And now he was... he was..._

And now she could never tell him.

Felicity slid from the edge of her sofa onto the floor, pulling her knees to her chest and pressing her forehead into legs.

And then she cried.

Felicity startled awake hours later. Hot and hazy through the gauze curtains, the sun was already in it's downward arc across the sky. When there was a faint rustling from her bedroom, she turned to see Thea leaning against the door jamb, phone held loosely in her hand, weariness writ large across her pale face. 

“Dad's at a meeting,” she started abruptly, her voice hoarse, “Mom's at home. She needed to sleep.” Thea's fingers clenched around the phone, “If you want to come with me.” Thea cleared her throat, “There's... arrangements to be made still, and I-”

“Yeah,” Felicity jumped to her feet, but stumbled on that first step. “If that's ok, I mean?” Felicity realized then that she was twisting her fingers together in the hem of yesterday's shirt. She took a deep breath and stilled them, pressing her palms hard against her thighs. “I don't want to intrude if-”

“No,” Thea said as she ducked back into the bedroom to fetch her coat and shoes, “It'll be fine.” She stuffed her phone into the front pocket of her cropped leather jacket. “It might be best this way. For you.”

Felicity nodded, shrugging into a cardigan and slipping on her flats, slinging her purse around her shoulders, “No family?”

“Right.” Thea pulled open the door and stepped to the side while Felicity passed her. “And if someone does see you, they'll think you're there helping me.”

“Helping?” Felicity questioned summoning the elevator with a press of a button.

“Oliver hasn't,” Thea pulled Felicity into a gentle embrace, “he's not awake yet.”

“Oh,” Felicity breathed out, sagging against her friend, “oh, thank God.”

Thea's face pinched into a frown, “Why, 'thank God'? What did you think had happened?”

Felicity pulled back just enough to see Thea's surprised expression. “I didn't know what to think! You hadn't said one way or the other.” She shook her head, “I thought he was- he was gone!”

“What!”

“I thought we were going to a morgue or a funeral home or something.”

“Or something,” Thea said flatly.

“You said the word 'arrangements' ok?”

Thea stared at her, mouth agape, “I meant for a home care nurse! You can make arrangements in a hospital that don't end with someone leaving in a body bag!”

“How would I know that?” Felicity said defensively.

“How would you know what?”

“I don't know how goys handle their dead!” Felicity winced slightly when her voice hitched on the last word. 

The two women stepped into the elevator and rode to the lobby in silence.

“Well,” Thea said as she linked their arms in the sun lit courtyard, “you're the first person to find out about the accident and be happy about it.”

“Thea,” Felicity said, her brow furrowing into a scowl, “it's not like that. I am worried, and I'm not happy about it.”

“I know,” Thea pulled her to where Felicity's mini was parked behind the building.

Felicity lowered herself into the front seat and put the key in the ignition. “I'm going to tell him,” she said as she checked her blind spot before backing out.

“I know.” Thea clicked her seat belt and sank into the upholstery.

“Everything,” Felicity continued, “about me, and about me knowing about him.”

“I know.” Thea placed her hand on her friend's shoulder, a gesture of sisterly comfort.

“I will.”

Felicity met her own reflection in the rear-view mirror. She didn't flinch. 

“He looks so-,” Felicity paused, unable to boil her feelings down to a handful of words.

“Still,” Thea said, pushing the door closed, turning the cacophony of hospital noise into a manageable murmur, “he's never still, like that.”

Felicity dropped her purse into a mint green Naugahyde chair and shrugged out of her cardigan, dropping it in a heap on top of her bag. 

“Is it a coma?” Felicity's question no louder than her breath in the still room.

“No,” Thea lowered herself into the other seat, “it's medically induced.” She pressed palms to her forehead, “I don't remember.”

Felicity turned to her friend then, “Thank you,” she said, a small smile on her face, “for bringing me. You didn't have to,” she rushed on when Thea looked like she was about to interrupt, “you're not obligated to me, but I'm still really-”

“Hey,” Thea grasped Felicity's cool fingers in her steady ones, “this is what friends do.”

Felicity slid her eyes back to Oliver's face, even as she held tighter onto Thea's hand, “Friends sneak friends into hospitals to see their comatose-” she drew breath then, unsure how to continue.

“Yeah,” Thea said with a smile, waggling their joined hands, “yeah, they do.”

Felicity lowered herself unsteadily to the very edge of the hospital bed, not wanting to disturb his medical care with hasty motions. She slipped her free hand into Oliver's, between the ID bracelet on his wrist and the IV in the back of his hand.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Oliver blinked awake, and frowned. Instead of the warm yellow walls and warm down comforter and warm beautiful woman, he was in a wood paneled bedroom. The same bedroom that had been reserved for important guests when he was child, was now the scene for his-

“Ongoing convalescence,” the doctor, Nelson, had said. Patting Oliver on the shoulder, right above the cast.

“Of course, Doctor,” Raisa said with a smile, narrowing her eyes at Oliver. 

“He, absolutely, needs to make it to his physical therapy appointments,” he'd continued to Raisa as an orderly pushed Oliver's wheelchair down the hall, and into the elevator. “Unless he's planning on moving into another line of work.”

“No,” Oliver ground out as the elevator began it's decent to the parking level. 

“Mr. Oliver,” Raisa said over his head to the doctor, “will be considering his future plans very carefully with the help of his mother and fath-”

“Mr. Oliver,” he grit out as the wheelchair shifted when the elevator door slid open, “will be returning to work, as soon as possible.”

“Well,” the doctor said, finally looking him in the eye, “while your arm was just a simple break, your leg took a lot of damage.” Oliver's eyes darkened at the confirmation of his deepest fears, “If you do all the follow-up and the PT, you're looking at a six month recovery.”

“Six months!” Oliver tried not to shout at the man, but here we are.

“Yeah,” Dr. Nelson tapped the cast over Oliver's knee with the edge of a clip board, “think of it as one month for every pin I put in there.”

Oliver scowled, jaw flexing, as the orderly maneuvered him into the car. 

Conveniently, he was wearing the same scowl now. He shifted his eyes then, from the ceiling, to the bedding drawn around his hips, to his phone, just out of reach on the rolling table, shoved to the end of the bed. His expression softening in the slanting afternoon light, as he thought, _I should call Felicity_.

He rotated his torso as far as he could, reaching out with his good arm towards the phone. _Why the fuck did I plug that thing in all the way down there?_ He wondered for all of half a second before a realized, _Thea must have done it._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It had been necessary, much to his dismay, to clue Thea into his relationship with Felicity. He'd had no doubt that the two women would be friends, maybe even someday the sisters that Thea had always craved, but Felicity was _his_. A person he'd found on his own, without the taint of interfering family. But in the end, he needed Thea.

Oliver crawled to wakefulness on, what he would later discover, was his third day in the hospital. Thea had been at his bedside, lit only by the sick greenish glow of the monitor's light, beeping steadily next to his head.

“Thea,” he'd croaked out, voice raspy and gravel-rough from dehydration and disuse. She'd startled then, head jerking up, eyes wild. It would have been comical, if it wasn't so dire.

“Oliver?” she still questioned even with the living proof before her eyes. “I should get the doctor.” She stood then and quickly backed away her eyes still full of doubt, disbelief.

“No,” he'd said, “my phone, I need it.”

“Oliver,” she'd halted her retreat to the door, “I'm sure it's not that-”

“It is,” he'd pressed his eyes closed and steeled himself for her onslaught of questions. “There's a contact in my phone, under “Felicity”. You need to send a text. Tell her I'm sorry and I'll call ASAP.”

“Is this your girlfriend?” she'd rolled the word around in her mouth, smiling at him coyly, a smirk on her face.

“Yes,” he'd locked his jaw, but didn't bother denying it.

She'd scoffed then, “You want some random girl to text your girl that you're sorry you vanished for three days?”

“Text her as me,” Oliver replied, shifting as best he could to relieve the stiffness in his arms and legs. He pinned his sister with a hard stare, even as his eyelids drooped, “and if you tell Mom and Dad-”

Thea mimed zipping her lips shut as she pulled his phone out of his plastic bag of personal belongings, thumbing through his contacts. 

“Mr. Steving?” he asked, brow furrowed.

“Who?”

“The patient,” Oliver grunted, shifting slightly.

Thea swallowed, “He didn't make it.”

Oliver pressed his head back into the pillow and fought the urge to cry. “Diggle?” he croaked out.

“A few bumps and scrapes,” Thea said over her shoulder, her finger flying across the screen, “but he's fine.”

“Lyla?”

“Spitting mad. But she'll be happy you're awake.”

He smiled then, and closed his eyes. Real sleep took him this time and not doctor induced. He didn't wake up again for another two days.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Oliver gripped the handle swinging above his bed in both hands, and flexed, levering his walking cast off the mattress. He hadn't been in traction for weeks now, but for whatever reason the frame lingered in his recovery room. So too did the wheelchair (Oliver had been on crutches, and now a cane, for the last two months), and the IV stand tucked into the corner. The sedative induced afternoon naps were the last thing he was weening off of. 

He pushed himself to the edge of the massive bed and gently eased his weight onto his feet. He scrunched his toes briefly in the plush carpeting, before bracing himself with one hand, stretching for the phone.

_OD: You available for dinner?_

_FS: Of course! God, I've missed you_.

_OD: See you at the usual?_

_FS: Yeah. See you then._

“Hey,” Thea called out as she slammed into his room. “Oh,” she said pulling up short, “I wasn't expecting you to be up and about quite yet.”

“I'm going to see Felicity today,” he pushed himself to his feet and started to the en suite, surprisingly steady in his walking cast.

“Are you sure that's a good idea?” Thea's tone was mocking but her expression held concern. 

“Yeah,” he growled out, turning the taps on, “it is.”

“But you've got that appointment on Tuesday. Shouldn't you being taking it easy before the final post op evaluation?”

“I'm fine, Thea,” he said as he reentered the bedroom

“But what if you jiggle something loose?” she gestured at his leg helplessly, “You might not be able to be a para-”

“It's been six weeks!” Oliver bellowed, wincing at his sister's stricken expression. He drew a deep breath, centering himself, “I haven't seen her in six weeks Thea, and I-” _need to tell her,_ “I want to see her.”

Thea nodded, “But the phone-”

“The phone isn't cutting it. I have some things I need to tell her. Things she deserves to hear in person.”

“What things?” Thea pressed, eyes growing wide.

He huffed out a laugh, “I don't know why I thought letting you know about her would be a good idea.” 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Thea and Felicity had met five months prior. 

Oliver had been waiting in his wheelchair in the study for his Wednesday PT appointment, when Thea crossed the foyer on her way out the door, briefcase in hand, purse over her shoulder.

“Thea,” he'd called out.

She'd slowed her steps, but didn't stop, “Yeah?”

“What are you up to tomorrow, after work?”

She pulled to a halt then, and drew her fingers up to push a strand of hair behind her ear, “Um, nothing.”

“Good,” Oliver relaxed into his seat, “I need your help.”

Thea sent him a dazzling smile, “Whatever you need, Oliver.”

“I'm not sure that's a good idea,” Moira had said to him later, over dinner, “you're still very early in your convalescence Oliver. I don't think you should jeopardize that with a jaunt to a coffee shop.”

“Thea will be there with me,” he interrupted, anticipating her objections, “I'm meeting her when she get's off work. Ben said he'd drive.”

“But, Oliver-”

“Greene and 12th is the other side of town, Mom. It isn't the other end of the universe,” Thea cut in, as she sent Oliver a small smile.

“Still,” Moira said her hands clenching around her cutlery, “I don't think it's-”

“I'm not asking your permission,” Oliver had said, pushing mashed potatoes around on his plate. “I'm informing you of my decision.”

He'd been giddy the next morning, texting Felicity, asking her to meet him at their coffee shop for dinner.

She'd called him on her lunch break. “I thought you promised me the Night of My Life?”

“We'll get there,” he'd promised, “but first it'll be the Early Evening of Your Month.”

“My whole month?” she'd replied, her voice light and teasing, “I dunno, the last season of _Pushing Daisies_ hit Netflix a week ago.”

“That's a challenge I accept,” Oliver had replied, maneuvering his chair back into the bathroom and turning on the taps.

“Are you taking a shower?” he could hear the smile in Felicity's voice. “Oliver! I am scandalized!”

“Scandalized! I can show you scandalized!” he replied, putting the phone on the counter and hitting the speaker, “I'm taking my shirt off!” he'd said over the roar of the filling tub, “And I'm taking my sweats off next,” he shouted into the phone, bracing his good foot on the tub, lifting his hips out of the wheelchair and shoving the thick material down to his thighs.

“It's not scandalous until you get to your boxers,” came Felicity's tinny reply.

“I'm not wearing any!” he'd shouted back.

She'd laughed then, and he'd smiled. “I'll see you at five thirty, Oliver.” Then she hung up.

And Oliver sat, sweats nearly to his knees, grinning, as the bathroom filled with steam.

When he got to the diner, it was just after five and nearly empty. Ben had pushed him into the back booth by the hallway to the bathrooms and the stack of plastic booster seats. He'd helped him across the cracked vinyl seat, and then made his discrete exit. Nancy, his favorite waitress, stashed his wheelchair with the kiddie seats and passed him a menu.

“Bacon burger with fries,” she'd yelled over her shoulder as she retreated behind the counter, “on special all day.”

“We'll take two,” Thea called, walking up to his booth, and sliding in across from him.

Oliver lowered his menu and pinched his mouth into a line, “I can order for myself Thea. I'm not incompetent.”

“I know you're not,” she said as she plucked the menu out of his hands, “but it's what you always get.”

Oliver folded his arms defensively across his chest, “That's not true.”

“Oh really,” she lifted one eyebrow nearly into her hairline, “so what were you going to order?” Oliver sunk further into his seat and frowned. “Geeze,” she said as she stacked her menu on his, “what's got you in such a mood?”

“It's Felicity,” he said, voice low, “she's really important to me, and I haven't seen her in ages, and-”

“You were in a horrible accident, Oliver. I'm sure she'll be understanding.”

“It's just,” he leaned in slightly, and lowered his voice even further, “she doesn't know about me in any _real_ way.”

“She knows _you,_ ” Thea said, eyes serious.

“Not about,” he drew a heavy breath, “the name, or the money, or all that _other_ stuff. From before.”

“Did you tell her about the plea deal? I mean, she knows, right?” Thea leaned in slightly, voice low.

“Yeah,” Oliver said shifting in his seat. “I told her I started with the FDSC because of a court thing.”

“Good,” Thea's smile was soft, “I think she knows all the important stuff.”

“Yeah,” Oliver's smile had echoed his sister's, “I really hope she does. And now, she's going to know you.”

Thea scoffed, “I'm not hanging around here until six. I'm just your cover story. I've got places to be.”

Oliver glanced down at his watch, “She'll be here in a couple of minutes.”

Thea's eyes grew wide, her face flooded with panic, “I'm going to meet her! Today?”

“Sure,” Oliver said, smiling at Nancy when she placed their burgers in front of them.

Thea's hand fluttered around her neck, a nervous gesture of their mother's, “Oh, God. Oliver, I'm not sure this'll be-”

“You'll be fine,” Oliver had to laugh. _When has Thea ever been nervous about meeting my girlfriend?_ “She'll love you.”

“You think?” Thea squeaked out.

“I hope so,” he said taking a bite, “she's here,” Oliver waved at Felicity over Thea's bowed head and hunched shoulders.

He'd glanced then between the relief on Felicity's face and the apprehension on his sister's.

“Oliver,” Felicity had breathed out, still several booths away from them, oblivious to everything but him.

“I'm Thea,” his sister blurted hastily thrusting her hand at Felicity, “Oliver's sister. It's nice to meet you.” Oliver frowned slightly at her tight smile and audible swallow.

He was equally confused, not by the surprise and confusion on Felicity's expressive face but, by the apprehension and fear there as well. But then, “Felicity,” she'd said with a smile, taking his sister's hand before lowering herself to the bench next to him.

He'd slung his arm around her then, and tugged her close, “You want a fry?” he'd whispered into her ear and smiled smugly when she'd blushed. Conversation had flowed more freely then, Felicity and Thea peppering each other with the standard 'get to know you' questions, and relaxing into their meal. 

With Thea running interference, he'd been able to see Felicity four other times in the six months he'd been at his parents. He'd always crafted their meetings carefully, the location, the time, trying to create an ideal situation to finally just _tell her_.

But then he'd see her beautiful face, and she'd tangle their fingers together, and by the time he'd remember, it'd be over. Felicity pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, Ben escorting him back to the house. The opportunity gone. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Oliver pulled himself out of his thoughts and glanced back at the filling tub. He could barely make out his reflection in the foggy mirror over the sink. “There are things I still need to tell her,” Oliver started back towards the bathroom. “Important things.”

“You can't break up with her,” Thea blurted out taking a half-step closer to him.

He turned to her, eyes wide, “Why would you say something like that?”

“You have a bit of a reputation.”

“It's not that, Thea,” he said, closing the door between them. _It could never be that._

“I'm going to go make some calls,” Thea shouted through the heavy wood door, her voice strained. “Let me know if you need anything else before your date!”

Oliver washed quickly. What had been an arduous task had been eased considerably by the waterproof walking cast. He dried and dressed in a hurry, pulling a sweater over his head and baggy cargoes over his cast in anticipation of a midwinter chill. He slid on his leather jacket and grabbed his cane, headed out the door and down the hallway.

“I don't know,” came Thea's pained voice through her slightly opened door, “he said it was important. Have you,” he heard her draw a heavy breath, “told him?”

 _Him?_ Oliver wondered, pausing at her door, ear tilted to the conversation unfolding on the other side.

“No, no,” Thea rushed on, a consoling tone in her voice, “he said specifically _not_ breaking up.”

 _Felicity,_ he thought. _Who on earth is Thea talking to about Felicity?_

“I just think,” Thea paused, “this might be the time to tell him. I think he really cares about you.”

Oliver felt himself shift into a preternatural stillness, one his family would have claimed him incapable of, when the knowledge washed over him. Thea wasn't talking _about_ Felicity. She was talking _to_ her.

“I know what I said originally, and I was wrong,” Thea hissed into the phone. “He should know you work for QC. We should have told him we were friends.”

And in that moment, with that confession, Oliver had ceased to draw breath. 

Felicity's friend she was meeting at the park who conveniently bailed on her?

_Thea._

Spending a golden afternoon with her sunshine and smiles?

_A set up. Another ploy by his family to meddle in his love life and rope him into servitude at the company._

And her sweetness. Her kindness and acceptance?

 _How could that be true? She must know. She must know every terrible thing about me._

Oliver spun on his heel and stormed down the back stairs. His foot steps thunderous in the narrow hallway to the kitchen, his stomach rolling. 

“Oliver!” Thea called down from the top of the steps, before chasing after him, “Oliver wait! It's not...” She paused in the kitchen archway, “What are you doing?”

He paused, hand on the door, keys in hand, “I'm leaving.”

“Where are you going?”

“No place smart.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little long-ish, because I didn't want to separate out the end into an epilogue and post it next week.  
> Even I'm not that mean.  
> It also contains some of the last chapter's events from Felicity's perspective.

Those early months of Oliver's recovery were hard. They were hardest on Oliver, obviously, but Felicity started to feel the strain too.

When she received Oliver's/Thea's text that he was sorry he hadn't called, but he would ASAP, the tension left her chest in a rush and felt like it pulled all the air from her lungs as it went.

She'd buckled then, in the cracker aisle of the grocery store, and held her phone to her stomach, and her hand to her mouth. She got it together long enough to leave the store, get in her car and drive home. The walk to her apartment a blur, and ride in the elevator a blink. She fell into her bed, and had her first real sleep in days.

His first call had felt like a miracle.

“Felicity?” he'd slurred into the phone when she answered, knuckles white from the intensity with which she gripped it.

“Yeah?” her answer was a question, her heart was in her throat.

“God, it's good to hear your voice.”

“Yeah,” she exhaled for what felt like the first time in weeks, sinking into her sofa cushions.

The silence between them was heavy, unnatural. Felicity felt her confession welling up on the back of her tongue, anything to fill the void.

“I told my sister,” Oliver said suddenly, “that's who texted you. I know we haven't talked about family, or,” Felicity bit her lip at his pause, “anything like that.”

Felicity heard a grunt then, followed by a short hiss of pain, “Oliver? Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” he said through clenched teeth, “it's just, you know, broken arm,” more rustling noises across the phone, “major leg operation.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” he continued, “I'm just not feeling myself right now.”

“Should you,” she started nervously, “I mean should we be talking right now? Should you be resting?”

“I feel like I've slept for a month,” he grumbled.

Felicity smiled, “You have.” She heard a beep and a whir then, “Oliver? What was-”

“An auto injector,” he cut in, “for the pain-killers.”

Felicity glanced at the time on her DVD player, “Seven o'clock?”

“Right on schedule,” he yawned through the phone.

“I should let you,” Felicity stammered, “I mean, if this stuff makes you sleepy then-”

“Yeah,” Oliver said gently, “I'll call you tomorrow. If that's ok?”

“Of course,” she whispered into the phone, then more forcefully, “whatever you need, Oliver.”

“What I need?” he huffed out a laugh, “It's not a phone call, but it'll do.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The first time she got to see Oliver face to face, Felicity was determined to tell him.

She pushed open the door to the diner, the bell tinkling cheerily over-head. And he was there, slightly bruised and a little frowny, but whole, and alive. _Oliver_.

Felicity was so enraptured by him that she didn't even notice the hunched brunette as she all but floated to his booth. When suddenly the stooped figure straightened, and turned, “I'm Thea,” the well-known voice said, “Oliver's sister. It's nice to meet you.”

Felicity froze, her float gone, as she rooted to the spot. She blinked twice, her gaze slowly traveling from Thea's outstretched hand to her wide eyes and panicked expression. _Did she tell him?_ Felicity thought in a rush, _She said she wouldn't interfere but, with his accident I_ \- Felicity cast a furtive glance at Oliver, who seemed more concerned by her gaping stupidly at his sister than any transgression of honesty, when she realized, _He's introducing us!_

“Felicity,” she blurted out, taking Thea's familiar hand into her own, before lowering herself onto Oliver's side of the booth. 

The conversation was easy then, as she knew it would be.

And when Thea left, Felicity bid her a (honest) fond farewell, and the quick glance between them had her certain she'd be getting a call later from the younger sibling.

She stooped then as they lingered outside the diner and pressed a kiss to the corner of Oliver's impossibly soft lips, “When can we do this again?”

He snaked out his good arm, running his hand along the back of her bare calf to cup the soft skin behind her knee, “Soon, I hope. I've missed you and-” he took a deep and steadying breath, “there's so much I want to tell you but I-” he turned his face away from her's then, staring vacantly into the middle distance, blinking rapidly, “I'm living with my parents again, and-”

“Hey,” Felicity said kneeling down next to him, the hem of her dress nearly on the sidewalk, her hand on a spoke of his wheelchair. “We can do all the talking later. You should concentrate on getting better first.” She rested her hand briefly against his shoulder when a sedan rolled to a stop next to them.

“This is my ride,” Oliver said, nodding at the man in the discreet suit as he exited the car.

Felicity leaned in and whispered, “I like your other ride a lot better.” She stood then, backing away slowly, letting her fingers linger on his shoulder.

“I always knew you were a pickup girl at heart,” he said with his cocky smile as the driver helped him maneuver into the car.

Felicity bent again seeking Oliver in the space between the other man's body and the door frame, “I wasn't talking about your truck.”

Felicity was about three blocks from the diner when her phone started buzzing insistently. She shoved her curiosity down, and got all the way home before she checked her cell. Two missed calls and a text, “Call me pls!!” from Thea. 

Felicity hung her bag on the hook behind the door and flung her keys onto the counter. Flopping down onto her couch she hit 'return call', and slipped her sandals off.

“So,” Thea said in lieu of a proper greeting, “that was awkward.”

Felicity huffed out a laugh, “I've had worse first dates.”

“Did you know that's what he had planned?” Thea asked, “I mean you acted pretty surprised, but-”

“I didn't know,” Felicity interrupted. “But I was wondering, did you,” she curled her legs into herself, “did you tell him about-”

“No,” Thea blurted out, “I haven't told him anything. He just... genuinely wanted us to meet.”

Felicity felt her posture relax slightly, “Ok, because I'm going to tell him, I am. It's just-”

“He needs to recover.”

“I mean, he looks so much better than he did, but still-” Felicity continued, voice shaking with tears, “I just can't believe he's even awake yet,” she closed her eyes and pinched her lips shut, “I just-”

“Yeah, he certainly puts a visual to 'You look like you got hit by a truck'.”

Felicity snorted out a laugh through her tears. “He says he's staying at the house,” Felicity said in a quiet voice, playing with a loose thread on a throw pillow.

“And isn't that a treat,” Thea said dryly.

Felicity smiled, “Would it be weird if I called?”

“He wouldn't answer,” Thea answered brusquely. At Felicity's stunned silence she rushed on, “Oh, God! Not like that! He's asleep.”

Felicity felt the breath leave her in a whoosh. “Sorry,” she gulped, “ I shouldn't have, I mean-”

“No,” Thea interjected, “you're both in a weird place. We all are. I'll remind him to call you tomorrow, if it looks like he's gonna forget.”

“Thanks,” Felicity breathed out.

“And he told you right? About him working as a paramedic?” Thea's voice was tight with tension.

“Yeah,” Felicity said with a yawn, “the unpopular plea deal? Right?”

“Right,” she heard Thea's relieved exhale over the line. “I'll see you tomorrow Felicity.” And then she as gone.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Felicity spent the next several months pumping herself up to tell Oliver. She'd practice in the shower, _Oliver, I know you're last name isn't Dearden_. Waiting at the bus stop, _I know your sister Thea. I knew her before I knew you._ Walking through the office to her desk, _I know how this looks, and what your reservations are, but I swear to you..._

But then she'd see him, and his bruises had faded away, leaving his skin a golden tan. 

His arm cast was gone, and he'd wrapped both his hands around her.

He was on crutches and out of his wheelchair and she could look up, up, up into his blue eyes again.

And then, their time would be over. And she'd be halfway home before she'd realized, she hadn't confessed. And she was never really sure if that fluttering in her stomach was despair, or relief. 

_But tonight,_ she swore as she stepped from the shower, _tonight will be different._

Felicity toweled her hair, dressed and applied an extra coat of lip gloss after pulling her hair back into a low ponytail. She snagged her briefcase and an extra scarf, opting to drive on what was threatening to be a very trying day. 

After a Hellish afternoon full of meetings Felicity was finally looking at the light at the end of the tunnel. “Forty-five more minutes,” she whispered her eyes flicking quickly between her monitors. When suddenly her phone chimed.

_OD: You available for dinner?_

Felicity smiled, her shoulders relaxing.

_FS: Of course! God, I've missed you._

_OD: See you at the usual?_

_FS: Yeah. See you then._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Felicity sat in the diner crowded against the far side of, what had become, their booth. She had just said goodbye to Thea. Her hands were in her lap clenched around her phone, her head spinning. 

He's coming. He wants to talk. It's important.

Even Thea now thought confession was the best course of action. 

The fluttering in her chest left her gasping. 

It felt a lot like hope. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Oliver slammed into the fire station, the heavy door bouncing against the cinder block walls.

“What the hell was that?” Slade asked from the far side of the captain's desk.

“Oliver,” Diggle replied blandly, not looking up from the stuffed three ring binder spread out before him in the messy blotter. 

“He hasn't come storming in like that in a long time,” Slade rose from the creaky wheeled office chair, peeking out the wavy glass on the top half of the door.

“He's been on bed rest for a long time,” Diggle took a long sip from his coffee cup, placing a post-it carefully on a page. 

“You figure that would have him in a better mood,” Slade said. And then, “This is how he was before, you know?”

“How he was, when?” Diggle asked as he rummaged through his desk drawer.

“When he first came here.”

The captain paused, “Well, he's back living with his dad again. Probably put him back in the same mindset.”

“Aww, John,” Slade cooed, “is this the Sensitivity and Mentor training kicking in?”

Diggle pulled his head out of the desk drawer and leveled Slade with a flat stare. “Yeah, it is. Get down there and sensitively mentor him.”

Slade sighed as if the weight of the world had just been dropped on his shoulders, opened the door and bounded down the stairs.

“Hey, Junior!” he called out to Oliver as he spotted the younger man on the far side of the station, wailing on a punching bag.

Oliver stilled the swinging bag with his hands and briefly dropped his forehead against it. Turning awkwardly on his nearly healed leg, he pinned Wilson with a stare, “What do you want Slade?”

“John said I had to come down here and mentor you.” Oliver snorted. “Hey I'm not a fan of the idea, either. So why don't you just spill and we'll put all this touchy-feely stuff behind us.”

“It's nothing,” Oliver said, realigning himself with the heavy bag.

“Are you about to make a bad decision?” Slade asked, eyebrows raised.

“Slade,” Oliver said, a slight whine to his voice.

“Are you?” he pressed.

“I was about to,” Oliver said quietly, “but I decided to come here instead.”

“So what was your bad decision about to be?”

“Nothing.”

“No, you have to tell me,” Slade said wagging a warning finger at Oliver. “You know how the captain gets. If he's not satisfied I've 'mentored' you or whatever, he'll make us watch those training videos again.”

Oliver sat down heavily on the weight bench, pressed against the wall behind the bag. “It's this girl-”

“I knew it,” Slade said with a smirk.

“Do you want to hear this, or not?” Oliver couldn't control the slight flexing in the small muscles of his jaw.

“Alright, alright, alright,” Slade rushed out, raising his hands in submission before folding his arms across his chest.

Oliver drew a deep breath and stared vacantly at his clenched fist on his knee, “She's been lying to me.”

“About who she is?” Slade asked as he took a half step back from Oliver, giving him the space he obviously needed.

“No, it's not that.”

“She running around on you?” Wilson asked carefully from where he'd propped himself against the edge of table.

“No,” Oliver said looking slightly taken aback, “God, nothing like that.”

“Is she in trouble? Like drugs or something?”

“No, she ju-”

“So, this about your money then?”

“Kind of,” Oliver said with a slight raise of his brow, “I found out she knows who I am.”

“Why wouldn't she know who you are?”

Oliver's gaze flicked up from the floor to clash with his friend's, “Because I hadn't told her.”

Whatever detached demeanor Wilson was holding onto, was gone, “You hadn't told her!”

Oliver's eyes narrowed, “I wanted to be sure-”

“Sure!” Slade interrupted, “You were in here a week ago making some swoony comments that sounded pretty damn sure.”

“It's not like that!” Oliver shouted defensively, “I think she knows Thea!”

Slade's mouth hung open for a split second, and then, “You introduced them six months ago!”

Oliver puffed out his cheeks, temper clearly getting the best of him, “I think she knew her before. Felicity works for my parents.”

“Half the damn city works for your parents!” Wilson shot back. “You've put this poor girl in a no win scenario, Junior.”

“What are you talking about?”

“If she knows you're a Queen, you'll break it off with her.” At Oliver's nod he continued, “So, instead, _you_ lie to her, don't tell her who you really are, and then _she_ has to lie too. Then you find out she does know, and you run on her anyway. I certainly hope you've been a paragon of honesty in comparison if you're going to rake her over the coals for this!”

“Relationships aren't supposed to be like that, Wilson. It's supposed to be about trust-”

“Trust, of course,” Slade interrupted, “meaning that the only one keeping secrets, is you?”

Oliver slumped, and ran his hand guiltily along the back of his neck, “Well, yes.”

“What have you left out?”

“All of the stuff,” Oliver said gesturing awkwardly in front of himself, “from before.”

“So she knows who you are, but she doesn't know why you're here? With us?” Slade's stance may have been rigid, but his tone was consoling.

“No, she doesn't,” Oliver said simply, clenching his teeth around the rest of the words that wanted to fall out of his mouth.

“I think maybe, that's your real problem.”

Oliver rose awkwardly to his feet, his resolve firming. He nodded once to Slade, and made his way across the station, back to the side door, and into the alley.

Oliver's chest loosened, and he felt lighter than he had in years. A feeling he managed to cling to all the way to Green Street, into the diner, and back to the booth where Felicity was going to meet him.

But it was empty.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Felicity took another slow sip off of her (surprisingly good) margarita, lulled by the soulful wails of a brokenhearted woman over the jukebox. _He knows. He's done. He's gone._

Even after Thea's tearful call, Felicity had waited.

“You were right,” she'd said later to Thea's voice mail halfway to the bar, “he found out I know his secret identity, and now he's gone.” And even though she'd been half expecting it for ages, it still hurt.

“You gonna want another?” the bartender asked, nodding at her drink, pulling Felicity out of her thoughts.

“I'm not sure,” she frowned into her glass. “The last time I had more than one of these I ended up making some really regrettable life choices.”

“A guy?”

“Yeah,” Felicity wondered, briefly, how unsanitary it would be if she put her head down on the bar top, and cried.

“That's generally the case with margaritas.”

“I'll have another, then,” Felicity said, straightening.

The bartender kicked up a grin, “You just got to get it all out. Drink a little, dance a little,” another shockingly blue glass appeared before her, “maybe even cry a little. You'll be fine in the morning.”

“You're really good at this.”

“Well,” the smile had grown bigger, “I did take the two week mixology course at the culinary institute.”

Felicity laughed, “No, I mean this,” she waved her hand between them.

“People? That's part and parcel of the job.”

“So,” Felicity said looking at the crowd behind her reflected in the mirror behind the bar, “I've drank a little. What was the next step to cure a broken heart?”

“Dance a little,” came the voice from the other end of the bar. “See anyone you like?”

Felicity scanned the crowd again and spotted tall, dark, and handsome, cutting quite the figure in a three piece suit. “Yeah.”

The bartender leaned in conspiratorially, “What's he look like?”

Felicity downed her second margarita in a gulp. “My next mistake.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Oliver walked stiffly, automatically, from the diner back to his truck. His heart racing, breathing heavy.

“Thea?” he tried not to shout into the phone. “Have you talked to Felicity since... No? Ok, well if you do.... Yeah, thanks.”

He tossed the phone onto the seat next to him and flexed his hands around the steering wheel.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Felicity did another slow spin around the floor, a slight smile on her lips, warm hands on the small of her back, her cheek cushioned on a firm chest. _This is all wrong_ , she realized muzzily. The hands weren't calloused or strong, the fabric against her face was expensive, but not as soft as a well worn leather jacket. 

She tilted her head back and looked up and up into eyes the wrong shade of blue.

She must have stumbled because suddenly one soft hand was around the skin on her upper arm, “Do you want to sit this one out?” he asked steering her towards a dimly lit circular booth. “Can I get you some water?”

“Yeah,” Felicity croaked out, “water would be great.”

The man was gone and back in a flash, clear plastic cup half full of water. “Here,” he said pressing it into her hand, sliding in next to her.

“Thanks,” she said barely looking up, sending him a half smile.

“I had a good time tonight,” he said sliding his arm around her shoulders.

“Me too,” Felicity said to her cup.

“Hey,” he said with a grin, sliding his fingers into his pocket, “how about we exchange numbers? Then we can have a good time tomorrow night too?”

Felicity took the phone into her palm, and then, _The last person I swapped numbers with was-_ She gasped loudly, and blinking wildly put the phone on the scuffed surface of the table, “I don't-” she stuttered out, “I don't think that's a good idea, tonight.” She started fishing around under the table for her purse strap with her feet.

“Ok,” he said, hands raised in an inoffensive way, “maybe we could just, I don't know,” he shrugged, “meet back here tomorrow?”

“Um-” Felicity hummed out as she slid out the other side of the booth, “I don't know.”

“Well,” the guy said, reaching for her hand, “how about I give you my number and then if you want-”

“No,” Felicity interrupted him backing towards the door, “I've got to go.”

And then she was gone.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Felicity sat parked in her mini cooper with the heater running and her mittened hands tucked deep into her coat pockets. She'd been here, behind her building, for going on ten minutes.

 _He seemed nice,_ she thought worrying her lip between her teeth. _Nice and wholesome, and well groomed. Like he very carefully considers what's in his 401k._ She gusted out a sigh and tipped her head back, staring vacantly at the streetlight, _And not at all what I want_. She shifted then, briefly wondering about Ol- _Good God_ , she thought, _I can't even rebound right._

She gathered her purse and briefcase then exited her car and practically ran for her building in the chilly night air. She keyed her way into the building and rode to her floor in numb silence. _Shouldn't I be crying?_ she thought absently, _Isn't that what's next on the list? Right after 'dance a little' and 'run from the ghost of your broken heart'?_

Felicity startled visibly when the elevator pinged. She pulled herself up from her slouch and started down the hallway, eyes downcast, tracing the winding pattern on the carpet. _But no, I'm home. I can't even 'drink away my pain' right_.

“Felicity,” she heard distantly and she flinched. _Oh, of course I'm hearing him. Tormenting myself, right on schedule._ And then, “Felicity,” more insistently. _God, I can't even have my compete freak out in the privacy of my own apartment. Oh no! Let's unload this right here in the hallway_ , right before she felt his strong hand close over her upper arm.

“Oliver?” she whispered, disbelief clear in the line of her trembling mouth. 

“Where were you?” his mouth turned down in a frown, brows crinkled and his eyes looked so, so sorrowful.

Felicity took a step back, breaking their contact, and locking her eyes on the steel of her front door, blinking twice to keep the tears from falling, “Drinking.”

“I thought you'd wait.”

“Well,” she said, swaying slightly, “chalk it up as another one of my many failures.”

“Felicity,” Oliver hesitated, licking his lips, “Felicity I- I'm sorry.”

“Why?” she said softly, eyes roaming his face, glassy with tears.

Oliver tentatively placed his other hand on her shoulder. Gently pulling her further into his orbit. Hoping she wouldn't resist. “I put you in an impossible place,” he whispered, echoing his conversation with Slade. “I shouldn't have done that to you, and I'm sorry.”

“But I lied to you?”

Oliver's eyes flicked shut. “I've done far worse to you.”

“What?” she breathed out on a puff of air.

“Can I-” his fingers flexed against her shoulders, “can we finish this inside?”

“Inside?”

He swallowed past the bile rising in his throat, dreading what was to come, “In your apartment?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, blinking past the misting of tears.

“Here,” Oliver turned, pressing one hand into the small of her back. He pulled the key she'd given him out of his pocket, inserted it into the lock and escorted her inside. 

He slipped her coat from her shoulders after she'd dumped her purse and briefcase in a heap by the door. Oliver slipped his leather jacket off as she unwound her two scarves and shucked her mittens.

Felicity walked on slightly wobbly legs to the couch, lowering herself into the nest of cushions.

“You want some coffee?” Oliver asked from where he'd ducked into her kitchen. “I can make a fresh pot.”

She had startled when she heard him, his voice pulling her out of her fog, but she quickly recovered, “Shouldn't I be asking you that?” she asked distantly.

“Why would you do that?” Felicity heard him rattling around in the cabinet where she kept filters and mugs.

“Because that's what you do for company,” she replied, pressing her palm into the side of her temple.

“Is that what I am, now?” Oliver emerged from her kitchen and knelt in front of the couch, “A guest?”

Her mouth opened to reply, before she shook her head to snap it shut. “I don't know, Oliver,” it was the truest thing she'd ever said to him.

“We've been dancing around this for a long time Felicity.” He shifted then, the motion smooth despite his walking cast, on to the sofa next to her, “Neither of us has been particularly honest with the other.”

“I meant to,” Felicity whispered, wrapping her fingers around the back of his hand.

“I know,” Oliver said, studiously avoiding her stricken expression, hollow cheeks, and pressed thin lips.

Felicity exhaled sharply, it smelled faintly of tequila, “Ok, cards on the table,” she straightened her spine. “I know your sister. We've been friends for a while now. She was the friend I was meeting that day we met. She and I met at work. I work for you parents.” Her tone was clipped and short. Her confession, a series of bullet points.

“I know,” Oliver said, leaning into her space.

“Thea said,” Felicity continued, her voice becoming choked with her unshed tears, “that you wouldn't want anything to do with me if I knew your name was Queen and not Dearden, but I-” she took a deep breath then, seeming to regain control of both her words and her emotions, “but I wanted it so much.”

“What?” Oliver breathed out, hesitantly turning his wrist to tangle their fingers

“Being with you,” she said simply, his hand squeezing her's against the fabric of her couch. “And then when I thou-”

Oliver tipped his head forward, interrupting her thoughts as he pressed her cool fingers against his heated cheek. “Ok,” he said, voice gaining strength. “I didn't want you to know I was a Queen because-” his jaw worked, but no sound came out.

“Because of the money?” Felicity prompted.

“No,” he sighed, eyes still on the floor, “because Ollie Queen was a fuck up.”

“You're not a party boy anymore, Oliver,” Felicity was quick to reassure him. “you do more to help people in a week than-”

“Felicity,” Oliver slid his gaze up her legs to their still joined hands, up her arm to her face, “please, let me-”

“Of course,” she nodded.

He sighed again, “Do you remember when I said I went to work for the FDSC when I was nineteen, as part of a plea deal?” At Felicity's nod he continued, “Tommy Merlyn and I threw this party, I was home on Summer break, I was about to flunk out of Brown,” he shook his head. “It was a shitty summer. So my parents are out of town, Thea's at camp,” he shrugged, a jerky and unnatural motion.

“And?” Felicity encouraged, despite herself.

“This girl,” he continues, eyes welling with tears, “Ashley Britewell. I didn't even know her, she was a friend of a friend of a friend.”

“What happened with Ashley?” Felicity's voice was as soft on his ears as her fingers around his clenched fist.

“She died.”

“What?”

“We killed her.”

“What!” Felicity flung Oliver's hand away from herself and scuttled back against the arm of the sofa.

“I didn't mean to tell you like this. I've been trying-” Oliver swallowed. “She took something,” he said shrugging helplessly, tensing himself so he wouldn't reach for her, “she got massively drunk, and then, somehow, got into my mother's anti-anxiety medication.”

“She overdosed?” Felicity's heart was still in her throat as she tried to process Oliver's story.

“Yes.”

“And you feel responsible?”

“I _am_ responsible.”

“Did you force her to take any of-”

“No,” Oliver interrupted, “no, I didn't even know her, I'd never even _seen_ her. Someone else found her the next morning. I woke up because I was dragged out of bed by the police and frog-carried into a paddy wagon.”

“What happened?” Felicity asked mouth agape as she resettled onto the couch, a good distance from him.

Oliver took a deep breath and then, “Tommy and I were both charged with Reckless Endangerment, sentence of two and a half to seven years. Mr. Merlyn got Tommy a deal on Drunk in Public. Tommy paid a fine and he walked.”

“But you ended up at the fire department?”

“Yeah,” Oliver swallowed, “my father froze my money. Told me to figure it out on my own. The public defender got me Contributing to the Delinquency of a Minor, thirty days in jail. The judge offered me community service, and I took it. Haven't looked back.”

“Oh my God,” Felicity reached tentatively for Oliver's hand, still resting in limbo where she'd left it on the couch.

“That's the choice I've made that's disappointed people around me,” he said spreading his fingers over hers. “Not that I caused someone to die. But that I've decided to atone for it.”

Felicity closed her eyes briefly, thinking of all the nights he'd come to her, frantic and desperate, how big and gentle his heart really was, “And every time you can't save someone?”

He hunched further into himself, “It's like that day all over again.”

Felicity tugged on his hand then, tipping herself into his shoulder, wrapping a supportive arm around his back, “Oliver, I-”

“She's all I could see for a long time,” he whispered into her hair. “All those people in the ambulance. They were all Ashley.”

“And now?” Felicity asked softly tilting her face into his neck, as he urged her closer with gentle hands.

He sighed, the breath stirring her hair, “Now I think I can see you, too.” He tightened his arms minutely around her, “Are you ok?”

“No,” Felicity whispered into this shirt, “I am _not_ ok. _We_ are not ok.”

Oliver tensed, waiting for the ax to fall. For his mistakes to drive her away too. “We're not?”

“No,” she said lifting her face from his shoulder, “but I think we might be. Come on,” Felicity stood, his hand still clasped in her own, “let's go to bed. I've had a terrible day. I'm exhausted.”

Oliver's smile was tremulous, “Really?”

“Yeah,” she tugged him towards the bedroom, “some asshole stood me up.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“We still have a lot to work on,” she said later as Oliver settled in behind her on the mattress, fresh and clean in the sweats that lived at her house, “both of us, in the honesty department.”

“Ok,” Oliver said, the relief evident in his voice.

“And you can tell me all the rest of your secrets later, and I'll tell you mine,” she rolled half onto her stomach, pulling him around her, “in the morning.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Oliver slipped on his suit jacket quickly, the muted gray of the fabric going silver in the bathroom of the firehouse. “John?” he called out over the whirring of the fans, keeping away the late Spring heat. “Is Wilson here yet?”

“No,” his captain called down from his office, “but he better be. I got all this paperwork...” his muttering trailed off as the door swung closed, pushed by the breeze from the heavy box fan in the window.

“God dammit,” Oliver grumbled fishing his cuff-links through the white linen of his dress shirt. “For all his whining and complaining about me being late all th-” Oliver startled when the door slammed open. 

“Junior!” Slade bellowed.

Oliver adjusted his tie in the rear view mirror of the ambulance. “Nice for you to be on time, Slade.”

“I told you before,” Wilson said slapping him on the back, his smile broad, “when you had someone very important, I would cover for you.” 

Oliver's grin was wistful before shifting into a smirk, “I guess I do have someone very important now.”

“You might want to leave as soon as possible,” Slade said as he jogged up the stairs, “Rocket's game, traffic's going to be a mess.”

Oliver heard the door to his boss' office creak open as he reached the alley way door, “Is he gone yet?” And then, “Thank God, he's been a nervous wreck all day.” And then, “He's always on my last damn nerve.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Doesn't the bride look radiant?”

Felicity smiled.

“And the groom? So dashing.”

She tightened her fingers around Oliver's, gripping his suit jacket sleeve with her other hand.

“Hey,” he lowered his mouth next to he ear, stubble catching in the wisps that had gotten loose from her up-do, “I think we should make some rounds.”

“Ok,” she nodded and half-turned to smile at the elderly ladies behind them.

“Tommy,” Oliver said with a smile at his dazed friend.

“Oliver,” Tommy pulled him into a hug, patting him soundly on the back, “I'm so glad you could make it. Both Laurel and I are.”

Felicity flicked her eyes over to the stunning brunette, swathed in layers of creamy chiffon, “It was a lovely ceremony,” she said with a grin.

“This is Felicity,” Oliver said slinging his arm around her shoulders and puffing out his chest a little.

“We've heard so much about you,” Laurel said, shaking her hand warmly, “from Thea.”

“Well, I hate to cut and run,” Tommy said winding his arm around the waist of his new wife, “but we've got to do this bouquet toss and then there's a Bentley covered in condoms and shaving cream waiting for us out front.”

“You'll come won't you?” Laurel asked, eyes sparkling, “To catch the bouquet?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“You know what this means right?” Oliver asked as his truck rattled to a halt behind her apartment building, pointing with their joined hands to the white roses, calla lilies and baby's breath nestled in Felicity's lap.

She nodded at him and grinned, leaning over for a kiss, “I do.”


End file.
